


Brüderlichkeit der Freiheit

by contraltosaurus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Agender Hange Zoë, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon adapted to modernity, Coming Out, Discrimination, F/F, F/M, Friendship Ereri, Homophobia, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Hange Zoe/Moblit Berner, Minor Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Minor Mike Zacharius/Nanaba, Minor Petra Ral/Oluo Bozado, Minor Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partying, Pseudo-sibling relationships, Religious Conflict, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Tags May Change, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contraltosaurus/pseuds/contraltosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigma Chi, the smallest and most controversial fraternity at Trost University, is desperate for new members. When the Class of 2020 arrives at the university, they are ready to rise to the reputation of their predecessors and make a real difference. Others find their niches within the two larger fraternities on campus--the slackish Gamma Rho and the snobby Mu Pi Beta--and struggle to balance their academics with their personal lives. The new members of Sigma Chi will find that there's a reason President Hanji Zoe loves to cite the second law of thermodynamics: order will always become disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Welcome to Your New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I didn't see that any fics had been written where the military branches were frats, so I took it upon myself to realize this universe. I'm in a fraternity myself, so I know what the "sacred bond" of siblinghood is like. For those of you who have never experienced it, I invite you into my world.
> 
> This is one of my first treks into fanfiction, and my first time writing for this fandom, so please bear with me. I've tried to characterize everyone to the best of my ability, using canon and my own headcanons. I appreciate any constructive criticism you have to offer. Also, as I reread chapters, sometimes I find something I could have worded better, or an extra sentence that could be inserted, so I might make some minor changes to chapters that are already posted. I live by the philosophy that nothing is a final draft. 
> 
> This opening chapter is pretty short; it's just an introduction into the atmosphere of the story. My style of POV tends to be from just one character at a time--in this particular chapter, it's Eren--but sometimes I slip up and allow a thought or emotion from another character.
> 
> Enjoy!

August 29th, 2016. Five years and twenty-five days since That Day.

This was their new start. 

The black SUV pulled up into the parking lot, finding a lucky spot near the front door of the dormitory. Having exited the vehicle and gathered up as many suitcases and bags as possible in their excitement, the three freshmen gazed up in awe at the sign of the door: “Maria Hall.” There were two other dormitories; Maria was the largest and the one into which freshmen were usually placed, Rose was a popular one for upperclassmen, often those who had joined a fraternity, and Sina was expensive and generally reserved for seniors who wanted to bask in their scholarly glory.

When they entered the main foyer, they spotted someone at the main desk, a small young woman with large glasses and messy hair of a silvery shade. She looked up at them with an expression that could only be described as the exhaustion derived from checking in freshmen all day.

“Welcome to your new home,” she said with a less-than-thrilled tone, standing and crossing the foyer to greet the three new students. “I’m Rico Brzenska, one of the Maria community coordinators, or whatever they call these positions.”

The brunette boy gave a look to the wide-eyed blonde, as if to say, “Go ahead.” Dropping one of his bags to his side, the blonde extended a hand and smiled nervously. “I’m Armin Arlert. This is Eren and Mikasa Jaeger.” He indicated the two standing beside him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rico said, shaking his hand and smiling purely out of necessity. The freshmen began to wonder what she had to deal with in this dorm that would make her like this. “Which rooms were you assigned?”

Armin fished around in his satchel. “Eren and I are in—let’s see, sorry—oh, room 330.”

“I’m in 210,” Mikasa stated simply, having memorized the number.

“Okay, Armin and Eren, you’re with Ian. I’ll buzz him up and let him know.” Rico pressed a button on her walkie-talkie, telling whoever Ian was that he “had a couple more little ones.” Then, she glanced at Mikasa. “You’re with me. Let me show you to your room. Eren and Armin, wait here for Ian.” As they walked off to the staircase, Armin looked at Eren with a look of pure terror.

“This is it,” he said, almost in a whisper. “We’re in college.”

Eren was intimidated as well, but his mouth spread into a wide, triumphant smile nonetheless. “Fuck yeah, man! We’ve been waiting for this day our entire lives! We’re at fucking _college!_ ”

“Watch the language, kids,” a voice rang out behind them. They whipped around to see a surf-tanned man with stern eyes approaching them—presumably Ian.

“So sorry!” Armin cried.  

Ian chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, I’m just messing with you. I’m Ian Dietrich, by the way.” He shook both Armin and Eren’s hands, with a strict sort of cordiality. Eren hoped that the dorm parents in the other halls were a little looser.

“But seriously, I keep a tight ship around here,” he continued. “You’d better follow the rules. This hall is notorious for all sorts of vile activity.” Armin shuddered. The last thing he wanted to do was to be involved in illegal activity and get in trouble. “See, the thing with freshmen is that they still have the maturity of high school kids, but the imagined freedom of adults. So you can imagine that it gets pretty crazy.”

“We could kinda tell,” Eren muttered.

“I see you already met Rico,” Ian surmised, understanding too well the tone in Eren’s voice. “She does seem like a hard-ass at first, but she’s on top of everything she does. It’ll be good to keep her as a role model.”

Eren smirked, imagining that Mikasa was already conversing with her about how to become the best student possible. Armin’s eyes lit up, having apparently the same idea. Armin was the valedictorian by a wide margin at their high school and had always excelled at any manner of academia, but Mikasa tried to be a renaissance woman. She was on student council and was the captain of multiple sports teams, and always managed to juggle her activities with relatively high grades. She was constantly looking for ways to be the most capable person she could be.

“Anyway, come on. Let’s drop your bags off. Orientation activities will start pretty soon.” The two were aware that they got there later than most others, recalling the incident on the freeway.

_“God damnit Mikasa, you almost got us killed!”Eren screamed as the SUV pulled out of a screeching skid across the rightmost lane._

_“That guy changed lanes right in front of us, it’s not my fault!”Mikasa defended herself, bracing against the wheel with a determined expression._

_“Armin, why do you always let Mikasa drive the car?! Never let the Asian drive!”_

_“DON’T BE RACIST, EREN” and “EREN, YOU RACIST_ FUCK _” were the simultaneous replies from Armin and Mikasa, respectively._

 _“I_ will _pull this car over_ right now _,” Mikasa said in her best road trip voice._

 _“Sorry,_ mother, _” Eren growled, slinking back into the back seat with his arms crossed. Armin sat shotgun, rereading a packet on Trost University for the fiftieth time._

Shaking himself out of the memory, Eren picked up his bags that had landed on the floor during the conversation and began down the hallway with Armin and Ian. They reached their room—all the way on the top story, with a nice view across the campus, and threw down their belongings with an exhausted sigh. “We’ll unpack tonight,” Eren said, unwilling to do the work at that moment.

Ian checked his phone. “It’s 2:45,” he said. “You go better run to the student life building for your first orientation meeting. It’s across campus. Don’t be late!”

“ _Shit!”_ Eren exclaimed, shoving his wallet and new keys into his pocket. Armin grabbed a patterned hobo from his suitcase and slung it over his shoulder. Ian moved to let them through the door, then locked it and closed it, watching as they flailed down the hallway. It wasn’t really across campus. It was next door to the dorm. He just wanted to see the look on their faces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off--the title is German for "brotherhood of freedom." It seemed an appropriate name, as a reference to "die Flügel der Freiheit" and as a nod to the heavy German themes of the show. In this universe, let's assume that Trost is a city somewhere in the midwestern United States--perhaps Indiana or Ohio--that was founded by German settlers and thus has a primarily Anglo-Saxon population. The fact that it's in the Midwest is also important; you'll find that out in future chapters.
> 
> The story begins in the year 2016; there's no reason for this, I just liked the sound of "Class of 2020." Like their eyes are opened and they see perfectly. It's a really bad pun. I'm sorry. I guess I could have called this chapter "To You, 2 Years From Now." I'm hilarious.
> 
> Next chapter: Our Shiganshina trio meet the rest of their classmates, and Armin reflects on his past.


	2. Some Katrina-Level Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m here to make sure all of you get through these four years safely and happily. It’s tough, trust me, and you will probably have sleepless nights and you will probably panic over your grades. It’s not going to be a cake walk."
> 
> Warnings: (canon) character death, mention of natural disaster, anxiety disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and prescription drugs, insinuation of suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying that while a lot of this chapter was really happy and fun to write, the end was really difficult. I didn't realize it would get so sad so quickly. But I'm keeping to the general arc of the original SNK story, and that gets really sad really quickly, so I'm not surprised. 
> 
> I really like writing from Armin's POV because it justifies my obsessive hatred of dangling participles and who/whom errors. Armin is a stickler for good grammar, I think.

“Fucking liar, it was next door,” Eren grumbled breathlessly, stopping in front of the student union. It was an expansive, modern-looking building with dozens of sepia-tone pictures of alumni and past football teams and important-looking people.

“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacc—” Armin chanted, before being shoved by Eren. Mikasa shoved her brother in turn. They were pushed into the building by a rapidly-growing crowd, and herded into a large conference room. They took a seat in the middle front, having gathered cups of lemonade and various pastries, and waited for the presentation to start.

A girl with dark auburn hair, pulled into a ponytail but still spilling messily around her face, stuffed her cheeks with a plethora of cookies. Some of the crumbs landed on Armin’s sweater sleeve.

“Hey, be careful,” he said, very gently, and brushed the crumbs off. The girl turned to look at him.

“Oh geez, I am so sorry!” she said with a full mouth. “I just really adore cookies. Would you like one?” Armin put his hand up and shook his head, suddenly overcome by a nervousness around the presence of strangers. The girl wiped her hand on her jeans. In the corner of his eye, Armin spotted a miniscule, dark-haired young man cover his mouth in disgust as he watched the action. The girl extended the same hand to Armin. The blonde boy took just the fingers of her hand in a loose, limp shake, an awkward half-smile finding its way onto her face. _Good. Not everyone here is perfect,_ he thought.

“I’m Sasha. Sasha Braus. Well, my real name is Alexandra but I _hate_ that name, so just call me Sasha, if you please. I’m from a little town in the northwest, and I just transferred here from the community college, but I’m a sophomore, and it’s so nice to meet you!”

As she spoke in rapid-fire, crumbs flying from her mouth despite her attempts to shove them all down her throat, Armin could just sense a distinct accent from the Dauper county, which she tried to conceal, but was clearly evident at times when she spoke too quickly and slipped up. Armin could guess that she was ashamed of her speech pattern, as he recalled that the northwest was a—how could he say it delicately— _less sophisticated_ region of the state… But he didn’t want Sasha to feel like she was anything less than she was. He saw the makings of a sweet, albeit eccentric, girl in her.

“The Dauper dialect is linguistically fascinating,” he said softly, leaning into her ear. “I really like the timbre of it, and I don’t get to hear it very often. Don’t be afraid to let it show. Be proud that you’re here.” He pulled away, smiling genuinely, as her shining eyes widened in surprise.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and turned away, beginning once again to stuff her face. A short boy with closely shorn dark hair—Armin, regrettably, couldn’t help but wonder the cause of his baldness—sat on the other side of her. The boy’s mouth flew open as he eyed her plentiful stash.

“Yo, cookie monster! Give me some!” he said.

Not flinching at the name, she sighed loudly with relief. “Gee, thanks, I thought no one would ever ask!” she replied, a bit of her drawl leaking through the vowels, and handed him a few choice morsels.

Armin listened vaguely to their lively dialogue—it was impossible not to hear it, as they were equally raucous—and learned that the boy’s name was Connie Springer, that he was a freshman from Ragako, also in the northwest of the state. He turned back to Eren and Mikasa, tugging at Eren’s sleeve to pay attention when the applause started.

A tall, broad man with neatly-trimmed blonde hair stepped out onto the small stage in the front of the hall. He held a microphone. Several “whoops” and catcalls could be heard from the audience; it seemed he was a popular figure on campus. The small man from before caught Armin’s eye again, this time because he was covering his face in embarrassment while a lanky figure elbowed him playfully.

Once the applause had died down, the man brought the mic to his mouth and spoke in a booming baritone: “Welcome transfers and class of 2020!” The room roared once again, the freshmen around him waving their arms in celebration of their “class of 2020” status. He chuckled into the mic and raised a hand to bring the noise down.

“Don’t get too excited—you haven’t graduated yet,” he said, receiving a loud laugh from the audience. “My name is Erwin Smith”—a few rogue catcalls—“ _please, no more applause, you’re suffocating me—_ and I’m the head honcho of Student Life here at Trost U. Basically, I’m here to make sure all of you get through these four years safely and happily. It’s tough, trust me, and you will probably have sleepless nights and you will probably panic over your grades. It’s not going to be a cake walk.”

Armin tensed up, and Eren threw an arm around his shoulders to squeeze him close, whispering words of encouragement into his blonde locks. Eren was well-acquainted with his friend’s long history of anxiety issues, and whether he knew it or not, his closeness was usually enough to calm Armin down.

“But you will probably also survive. We want you _all_ to survive this. I say 'probably' because I don’t want anyone to take this place for granted. We’re asking a lot from you. Trost is a distinguished establishment, and we call for the absolute best work you have to offer. Are you going to represent this school with the diligence and creativity I know you all possess?” The audience screamed with applause. Erwin smiled. “Make me proud,” he said in a low voice, while the volume in the crowd was still high.

His speech, while inspiring and clearly well-received by those around him, was incredibly intimidating. Armin looked around and saw a few heads drop into their hands, shaking and muttering things like “What the hell did I sign myself up for” and “These are going to be the longest four years of my life.”

The room fell quiet. “I’ll be seeing you all at the other orientation activities, but for now I have to hand the mic over to the man who made sure you could all be here now, my dear friend Keith Shadis!” More applause. Erwin joined in as well and handed over the microphone as a bald man with deep-set eyes climbed onto the stage. Apparently he was the dean of the education college, but he was also in charge of admissions. He clapped Erwin on the back and began to speak. Armin watched as Erwin hopped down and made his way over to the guy who kept making faces. He pulled the little man into a squeeze, its recipient blushing yet hugging back tightly.

Armin made a mental note to observe as many interpersonal interactions as he could. It was good to know who knew whom on campus.

Eren elbowed Armin gently. “Fine piece of meat, eh Armin?” Eren had been aware of Armin’s sexual orientation since they were in middle school. Ironically, he was always so quick to make a joke about it when he was entirely oblivious to Armin’s more _specific_ interests.

“Oh, shut up,” Armin said. “He’s probably, like, thirty years old. And…straight.” He sincerely doubted that, based on the interactions he had so far watched, but it was a sound argument. 

“He’s twenty-eight,” said Mikasa flatly. Armin had no idea how she knew that, but he never doubted her.

“Boo hoo, off limits!” Eren laughed. _Not all gay men are as thirsty as you might think, asshole,_ Armin told him within the confines of his mind.

“Hey, squirt, I feel your pain.” Armin and Eren turned around to face the source of a deep voice behind them.

An incredibly well-muscled blonde with piercingly pale eyes lounged in the next row back, with a long, dark arm around his shoulders like a cage, which belonged to a tall brunette with gentle green eyes. “Trust me, he’s definitely _not_ straight.” He and his companion smiled slyly, like there was something they knew and Armin didn’t. “Not gonna lie, I had my eyes set on that when I was a freshie.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The brunette next to him slowly turned to give him the most horrifying death stare Armin had ever witnessed, which elicited an uncomfortable laugh from the blonde. “I mean, ha ha, I—I’m just kidding. I—Bertl, I’m kidding. _Jesus_.”

The brunette—Bertl, apparently—softened up immediately and laid a languid kiss on the blonde’s temple before looking at Armin. “He says the darnedest things,” he said quietly.

 _Okay, so I now know two gay men_ and _two men who could probably crush my head with their bare hands,_ Armin considered, turning around and staring straight ahead. The blonde’s name was Reiner Braun, he learned, and his boyfriend was Bertholdt Hoover, and they had grown up in another state and been in love with each other for long enough that they’d stopped counting (not really—Bertholdt leaned in and confided that it had been nine years, seven months and twelve days).

After Keith Shadis was finished with his speech, the dean of the college of arts and sciences was welcomed up, an old man named Darius Zackly. He sported finely groomed silver hair, an impressive beard and a tired appearance. Several other administrators were introduced, each with their own take on the college experience and the educational process and all that. When it was done, there was a short break wherein a group of upperclassman crowded onto the stage; they had been littered through the audience, two of them being Reiner and Bertholdt.

“This is where we split up, baby,” Reiner had said to Bertholdt, kissing him tenderly on the cheek. They were impossibly cute, in an intimidating power couple sort of way; in the recesses of his heart, he knew he’d like a relationship like that. He knew the person with whom he’d want it, but that had proved to be a lost cause.

One of the upperclassmen, a person whom Armin couldn’t quite tell was female or male, and didn’t want to misgender, picked up the mic and announced: “Okay, now we’re going to be splitting into our orientation groups, each with their own mentor. Your group number is listed in your orientation packet. I’m Nanaba Smith, group 1…” They went down the list of orientation mentors, and dismissed the audience to find their mentor, all of whom held up large signs to indicate themselves.

Armin flipped through his packet and found that he was in group 4, led by someone named Boris Feulner. He turned to Eren, hopeful that they would be in the same group, but Eren, one step ahead of him, shook his head. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. People here seem nice. Just be yourself, be cool.”

It was little moments like that one that made Armin’s heart flutter in his chest with false hope. He pulled Eren into a close hug and savored the sensation of his friend stroking his soft hair, before pulling away and nodding at him. They always had a way of communicating nonverbally with each other. Eren chalked it up to their long history of friendship. Armin stubbornly refused to believe there wasn’t something more.

He walked up to Boris and watched as other students trickled into the vicinity. The second to arrive was a tiny girl with downcast blue eyes and a permanent frown. She seemed to be a friend of the tall couple, as Reiner walked by with his group—which included Eren—and batted the pale bun she’d tied her hair into, only to receive a punch to the stomach. He clearly pretended to take it harder than he really did, but one could tell that the girl was rippling with muscle, even under her gym clothes.

_Add her to the list of people with whom I don’t want to interfere._

Other students came into the vicinity. There was a girl who had a feathered cut very reminiscent of the 80’s and a fabulously stylish cocktail dress. Armin admired that she went out of her way to make a fashionable first impression on the others, but then he noticed her caked-on makeup. Her cat-like eyes, emphasized by the way she did her wings, kinda creeped Armin out.

There was a boy with a long face and sharp, harsh features, and a two-toned undercut; Armin found him rather beautiful, but the uninterested scowl he wore detracted from his shapely appearance.

The student standing close beside him, as if to accentuate his negativity, had a wonderfully pleasant smile, and his face was dotted with dark freckles, like a Milky Way of melanin. His sable bangs looked incredibly soft as he ran his hand through them, laughing softly to himself. There were a few other students in the group, but none of them were as striking as the ones Armin had observed first.

“All right, guys, we’re heading over to the garden to begin our group activity. We can introduce ourselves when we get there,” said Boris. They began the walk there, and immediately Armin began to pick up on the personalities of his companions. The petite blonde spent the entire time in silence, looking at her feet and kicking pebbles. The boy with the undercut seemed a little awkward, tripping over his spindly legs and resisting conversation, but the ever-loquacious and utterly charming dark-haired one managed to loosen him up and get him talking. They were roommates, and they seemed like they would become close, Armin hypothesized. The uber-fashionable girl continually appeared to make advances on Boris, and then promptly criticized whatever faults she could find with him when he ignored her comments. Armin got all sorts of negative vibes from her. _Bitch._

As they entered the rose garden, Freckle Boy’s eyes lit up with wonder. “This is beautiful!” he said, stooping to admire the variety of multi-colored flowers and shrubs. “It reminds me of my house in France…”

“You’ve been to France? I have family there,” Long Face said, with a shy hint of a smile.

“I took a year off between my senior year and this one,” he explained. “I wanted to travel Europe, become more cosmopolitan, learn about the world. I took a sort of tour all over, from Iceland all the way down to Greece. It was amazing.”

Armin leapt to discuss with him the intricacies of European modern art and culture, as the group situated themselves in chairs around a small fountain.

“We’ll have to continue this conversation later,” the freckled boy said, winking at Armin. The other one seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat, as if he were resentful of his lack of European knowledge. Hopefully his roommate would share his experiences with him as well.

“Okay!” Boris started, looking over his list of activities to do. “Let’s just start by introducing ourselves, I guess. Name, hometown and major. I’m Boris Feulner—you already knew that—and I’m from Stohess. I’m a senior economics major.” Economics, all right. Boris was a pragmatic individual, choosing a sensible, safe career path.

The next in line was the cat-eyed girl. “I’m Hitch Dreyse. Please, don’t ask, just call me Hitch, because my real name is absolutely horrendous. I’m _also_ from Stohess, what a coincidence, and I’m majoring in business.” Business. Classic silver spoon. Probably following in the footsteps of whoever in her family bought her that expensive ensemble. She seemed like the kind of person who was sleazy enough to build an empire upon the financial backs of others.

Freckles was up next. “My name is Marco, Marco Bodt… I’m from Jinae originally, and I haven’t really decided on a major yet, but I have a lot of interests. I like music, and history, and linguistics, and, oh, child development, therapy, psychology, and philosophy—”

“Okay, wonder boy, we get it. I’m Jean Kirschstein,” came the next introduction, interrupting the seemingly endless list of potential majors. Marco blushed, but didn’t seem offended in the slightest; Armin noticed a faint movement in Marco’s jaw muscles as he sounded out the name “Jean” in the back of his mouth. The “J” was pronounced like in French; Armin guessed that Jean was very sensitive about the correct pronunciation of his name. “I’m from right here in Trost. I haven’t decided on a major either. In high school I was pretty mediocre at everything, so I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Oh, you don’t seem mediocre to me at all, roomie. I’m sure you’ll find something you’re amazing at,” Marco interjected, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. Bam. Armin couldn’t suppress a laugh to himself. It was painfully obvious that Marco wanted that dick. Armin genuinely hoped that Marco wouldn’t face the same roadblocks that he had.

“Hope you’re right,” said Jean, a very, _very_ slight bit of pink finding its way onto his pale cheeks.

The blonde girl rolled her eyes, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I guess I’m next,” she sighed. “Annie Leonhart. I’m from out of state—it’s a really small town, none of you have probably even heard of it. I'm actually a sophomore, just transferred here. I’m going into pre-med.” Medicine—an ambitious career, but one that would provide a comfortable pillow of wealth. Armin often thought that doctors should be fairly sociopathic, only making rational decisions about their patients based on the logic and factual evidence of biology and physiology.

The rest of the students introduced themselves—three boys named Sam, Tom and Daz, whom Armin didn’t find extraordinarily interesting. Finally, it fell to him.

“Hi, I’m Armin Arlert. I, um, I come from Shiganshina.” A certain silence fell upon his listeners, and their eyes widened just so. Armin didn’t need their pity. He swallowed loudly and continued. “I’m undecided as well. But I’ll probably go into one of the sciences.”

Armin had always had a fascination with the natural world; he didn’t really get out much as a kid, and he always dreamed of seeing other places—the beach, the mountains, the desert, the jungle… He had known rolling hills and farmland and fields of wheat his entire life, and he thirsted for more. He didn’t want to go into geography; cartography didn’t seem like a fulfilling career. He just wanted to learn, as much as possible, in as many disciplines as possible. “Maybe liberal studies,” he added, considering his possibilities. He shrugged. “Maybe I want to be a teacher.”

The others stared at him. He was trying so hard to suppress the memories. _Please, please, just get on with the fucking activity. Please don’t ask me about it. Why are you all staring?_ His heart sped up a few ticks and his face felt like it was burning.

Marco was the first to speak.

“Shiganshina? How…how is it? How’s reconstruction?”

Armin gave him a blank expression. He could have simply told them that he wasn’t particularly in the mood to discuss what had happened five years ago, and it would be over, but once the recollection pervaded his brain it was impossible to stop.

The short version of the story was that a twister of titanic proportions had ravaged the town—blew it straight to the ground. No one was prepared. It was some Katrina-level shit, people had said over and over again, like a catchy slogan. But it wasn’t like Katrina, Armin thought. Water isn’t like wind. Water by itself doesn’t kill. There is still hope for survival if you’re treading water. Wind, however, kills without mercy.

He recalled the warm summer breeze, picking up speed as his parents took off down the road to buy supplies for their underground shelter. He stood on his front porch and watched as the car was blown into the air and ripped apart before being flung unceremoniously down to the ground. His grandfather’s hand had been on his shoulder. All Armin had said was, “Eren and Mikasa.”

Grandpa had grabbed Armin and ran as fast as his old joints would allow, down to their neighbor’s house. Hannes hopped with inhuman speed into his pickup, Grandpa in the passenger seat and Armin in the bed, and sped down the road toward the Jaeger residence, getting there just as the house collapsed upon itself. Grisha helped pull the bodies out from underneath; it was lucky that he was still conscious. Eren and Mikasa weren’t. They woke up eventually, though. Karola didn’t.

Armin and Grandpa lived alone after that, until heart complications took Grandpa away a year later as he was rebuilding the house. Then, Armin’s home had been with the Jaegers. They were the only family he had.

“We’re still putting it together. There are parts still intact; the rest is a work in progress,” he said simply. The town had been more or less closed off from most of the highways and freeways as they were being reconstructed, so it was rarely visited by outsiders. No one needed to know the details of how so many people had died that it was difficult to find enough labor to rebuild the town, that they were just struggling to raise enough crops to feed everyone.

Armin, along with Mikasa and Eren, had been counting the days until they could leave that god-forsaken little town and live in a place where there was still light in people’s eyes and hope in their hearts.

He was sick of falling to his knees every time a breeze shook the tree outside his window, the breath knocked out of him, scrambling frantically for his inhaler and ripping open the bottle of Xanax. It took him hours to come down from it. In that time, he was completely unproductive, unable to be of any use to anyone. Eren would always tell him it was okay. Mikasa would sit next to him, holding him silently, rocking him back and forth in her arms, while Eren would hold his hand and whisper into his ear about how much they loved him, how special and wonderful and irreplaceable he was to them. It still took hours.

He was sick of coming home in tears because the kids at school (the one out of town, to which all of the Shiganshina Middle School kids had been forced to transfer) thought it would be fun to blow in his face and scatter his papers off of his desk. They didn’t know how many times a day he just wanted to leave the ruined wasteland of his home and go to be with his parents and grandpa again, how many schemes he had devised and planned and almost executed, careful to consider Eren and Mikasa and the least amount of things he would ruin for them. They didn’t know anything.

He was sick of seeing a different therapist than the one he grew up with. The one before had really known _him,_ known about his deep-rooted feelings of worthlessness and doubt and weakness. But she died in the tornado. The one afterward found a strange pleasure in linking everything back to the tornado. About post-traumatic stress and incidental anxiety. Not about the foundation, or lack thereof, of Armin’s cripplingly-flawed personality.

He was fucking _sick_ of it all, and thinking about it must have brought some sort of emotion to his face, because all of a sudden Marco was kneeling before him with his hands on his shoulders, steadying him and smoothing one side of his hair down. Marco’s honey brown eyes gazed deep into Armin’s, and there was something vaguely calming about them. Armin was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists. He focused on each individual dark spot across Marco’s face, one by one, struggling to suck in air.

“Hey, Armin, buddy, I’m sorry,” Marco cooed in silky tones. “Deep breaths. You okay?”

Armin’s hands relaxed and he looked down. “Yes. I’m okay,” he said shakily. He reached tentatively into his pocket and pulled out his bottle; he glanced around defensively as he removed a tiny orange tablet. _This is the definition of not acting “cool.” Eren is doing to be so disappointed in me…_

“Need water?” Marco asked.

Armin shook his head as he popped the pill into his mouth. He had learned to swallow without water long ago. He winced slightly, and sat back in his chair, breathing deeply.

“Armin, will I have to report this to the student health center?” Boris asked softly. The others were still seemingly in a state of shock. _Talk about bonding activities…_

“No. Please, no.” Armin’s gaze held straight ahead. His head was light, and it took everything to keep his line of vision steady. Marco took his hand. Armin tried to shake it off—it didn’t feel enough like Eren’s. He pulled his phone from his bag and, with shaking fingers, sent a text to Eren, not caring in the slightest that he was occupied with other things.

_[4:38 PM] Unexpected attack. In the garden. Need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's one reason why I set Trost in the Midwest. 
> 
> Let's assume that the "hometown" that Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt hail from is one of the little suburbs of the Bay Area. Because of their gratuitous homosexuality and aLSO THE SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS HA HA HA I MADE A JOKE please stop me.
> 
> Also, just to clear things up, Nanaba is Erwin's cousin, because she needed a last name and she looks enough like Erwin (and has a similar personality, in my opinion). And Ymir is Ilse Langnar's cousin, because they look practically identical.
> 
> Next chapter: Our favorite chihuahua is finally introduced and he has domestic time with his golden retriever boyfriend.


	3. Keep It On The Down-Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,  
>  Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white;  
> The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping night,  
> The East her hidden joy before the morning break,  
> The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,  
> The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:  
> O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,  
> The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:  
> Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat  
> Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,  
> Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,  
> And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet. _  
> -William Butler Yeats__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your program of self-loathing angst to bring you a chapter of purely self-indulgent fluff, with a bit of exposition. I really enjoy writing characters I love, because they just flow right from my fingertips. All I have to do is imagine them sitting together and I can generate dialogue instantly. This chapter begins from Eren's POV and then shifts abruptly to Levi's.

Eren felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and wasted no time in answering the text.

_[4:39 PM] on my way, hold in there bud_

He also wasted no time in telling Reiner that Armin needed him in the garden. Reiner didn’t put up much of an argument; he waved Eren off with a knowing smirk and continued their name game without a moment’s hesitation.

Eren’s legs hadn’t moved so quickly in a long time. Probably since Armin’s last attack; he wasn’t sure when it was. They had become blurs in his memory, and he was unable to differentiate the time span between them, or even between Armin’s attacks and his own incidents.

He was flying—until he flew right into a guy.

“FUCKING _SHIT!”_ his victim screeched, followed by a string of much more creative expletives. A thick manila folder had just lost all of its contents, and they were now blowing about on the ground, splattered with the remains of a fallen thermos of tea. “Perfect. Fucking perfect. Shit, you little shit, I will…” He bent down to pick up as many papers as he could in as neat a pile as possible.

“Oh, shit, man, I’m so sorry,” Eren said, bending to pick up a few of the papers as well. They met each other’s eyes on the way up to standing level. The guy’s eyes widened just a bit as recognition flashed across them.

“You’re Eren Jaeger, aren’t you?”

Eren was taken aback. He was completely new to this school, knowing only Mikasa and Armin, and Hannes, who was a literature professor. It was thanks to him that they had all applied, and probably also thanks to him that they had all been accepted (not to mention that it was because of him they were alive). He had no idea how anyone besides those three might recognize him.

“Uh, yeah… How do you know me?” Eren asked.

“I’ve heard rumors, that’s all,” the man replied coldly, arranging the papers back into his folder. “God damn it.”

“Sorry, I, uh—I need to run.” Eren had already broken into a sprint by the end of the sentence.

“I can see that. Get out of here!” he called, watching the boy disappear down the path.

Little shit, spilling his tea. He also worked at Trost's local junior college, which had been in school for two weeks already, and he anticipated a strenuous schedule for this year. He replayed the day's schedule in his head, which he had tried to plan to the minute. At 2:30, his criminology class had met to take a quiz; as his presence wasn't needed, he headed over to TU to watch Erwin's speech. Afterwards, he suffered through a trademark bear hug, and whispered in his boyfriend's ear that he was a beautiful and magnificent bastard. Then, at about 3:20, he'd dipped out and rushed over to the college to pick up his students' finished quizzes, and then right afterwards had come back to TU for a teacher conference at 3:30. He had three different sections’ papers to grade tonight, and it was nearly five. He needed the papers dry and in order and he _desperately_ needed caffeine in his bloodstream.

“Levi! Over here!” He walked out to the parking lot where Erwin’s Camaro was waiting for him. That fucking car. It was bright green. Erwin once mentioned having black flames done to the side, but that was where Levi drew the line. The color matched the jade pendant Levi had bought for him in India, and that hideous bolo tie he sometimes wore for special events. It was his favorite. Sometimes, Levi couldn’t believe that man and his ironic taste for the tacky.

The window was rolled down and a hand was waving, beckoning him forward. _As if I wouldn’t be able to find your god damn emerald muscle machine._

He opened the passenger door and slammed it upon climbing inside.

“Woah, watch it,” Erwin said, starting the engine. He leaned over, expecting an eager kiss from Levi, but instead, his lips met with a tightly-pursed scowl. “What’s up, dude?” The car took off down the street towards their home.

“What’s _up_ is that fucking _Eren Jaeger_ ran right into me on the way here and spilled my tea all over my crim quizzes.”

Erwin looked forward, jogging his brain for memory of an Eren Jaeger, and fell short with a frown. “Who?”

“You know, that kid. The admin was talking around the office, everyone says he’s bad news. The one, you know, you read his application and shit this summer and said—”

“Oh, yeah,” Erwin laughed, recalling their conversation. “I said he was just like a new you.”

Levi threw his hands in the air in exasperation. No way in hell would his boyfriend compare him to that snot. “Well, I sure fucking hope I wasn’t _running into TAs and knocking them over!”_

“You sure did some stuff worse than that, sweet cheeks,” Erwin said with a cautious glance in Levi’s direction. He reached over to Levi’s lap, his fingertips searching blindly for a hand. They found it, and their digits interlocked. Levi puffed a bit of air from his cheeks and slumped down. There was a long moment of silence as a Beethoven sonata played in the radio.

“You know,” Erwin mused thoughtfully. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for this Eren kid if he had someone like you to look up to. I mean, you’re exhibit A when it comes to turnaround stories.”

“Thanks,” Levi breathed ungratefully. “That's your fault.”

“I know,” Erwin said through a smile, and brought Levi’s fingers to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to each of them. “Seriously, though, do you know if he’s interested in Chi?”

“I don’t fucking know, Erwin. I saw him for literally ten seconds, and then he ran off like he was being chased by a rabid cheetah.”

Erwin entertained the imagery for a moment. “Well, let me know if you have any further communication with him. He seems like an interesting person. Not that Chi isn’t _rife_ with interesting people.” A smirk played upon Levi’s lips—their organization did indeed have the richest spectrum of personalities of any, and they lauded that fact.

He changed the subject, sort of, as they pulled into their driveway. “Did you see Reiner and Bertholdt today in the orientation? All over each other. Jesus _fuck_. You’d think that after that long, they’d have escaped the honeymoon phase. They’re gonna scare away all the newbies with their rampant homosexuality.”

“I didn’t think you were opposed to rampant homosexuality. At least, last night you weren’t,” Erwin said, his voice dropping about a fifth as he climbed out of the car and up to the front door. Levi was close behind him and slapped his bicep, harder than he’d meant to. In response, he earned a solid smack on the ass. “Not one bit,” Erwin whispered sensually in his ear, as if to drive the point home.

“Shut the fuck up!” Levi exclaimed.

“Levi, honey,” Erwin started as he slipped the key into its hole. He tended to resort to pet names when the conversation turned serious. Levi hated it. It was like he was being verbally looked down upon—he had enough of that physically as it was. “This is what I’m talking about.” Levi rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._ “Why are you acting like what we have is wrong? You shouldn’t be afraid of these things. You shouldn’t be afraid to be you, for us to be _us._ ” Erwin slipped inside, letting Levi enter before him. _Always a gentleman._ Once the door was closed, he wrapped an arm around Levi and pulled him to his chest. “Why do you feel the need to hide? It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Levi squirmed against him (but only half-heartedly, and Erwin was well aware). Their relationship certainly wasn't in its infancy, but it _was_ a secret, or so Levi hoped. Levi and Erwin had been fucking since his freshman year and dating since sophomore year, and the summer after Levi's senior year, Erwin had outright declared that he was buying a house for the two of them. Levi was absolutely terrified, but he simply couldn't turn down the offer of sharing a home with the love of his life. Still, Levi hadn't felt comfortable calling their relationship a "relationship" until then, out of shame and embarrassment and bitterness and all sorts of emotions he didn't like to recall. He had worked very hard to make sure that the only individuals who knew about their romantic partnership were the other Chis. “Don’t you act like everyone knows, because they don’t," Levi told him sternly, and then whined, his cheek coming to fall against the blonde's chest. "I just don’t want you losing your job, Erwin. Seriously—a campus administrator with a _student_?” 

“Grad student,” Erwin corrected.

“Same difference. It’s just—I’d like to maintain the reputation I’ve worked so hard to build.”

“Excuse _you_. It’s my fault you have that reputation, remember?” Erwin retorted with a cocky smile. Levi looked up at him with a grimace, for once having nothing to say back. Erwin took this rare opportunity to lean down and kiss the grimace away.

His lips closed softly around Levi’s. The smaller man surrendered, raising his hands to wrap around Erwin’s neck and pull him down. Their lips parted simultaneously, having tasted each other enough times to communicate solely through their nerve endings. Erwin’s tongue traced delicately across Levi’s lower lip, rewarded by a hushed whimper. The kiss deepened as the two tried desperately to close every distance between their mouths. Unsatisfied with only this, Erwin reached down to palm Levi’s cock through his corduroys, and after allowing the contact for a few seconds with a wanton gasp, Levi pushed away from Erwin.

The blonde pouted. “Aw, really?” he whined dejectedly.

“I have about a hundred quizzes to grade before tomorrow morning, you slut. You can jack off to the thought of fucking me while I waste away in three-sentence essays about the Zodiac killer.” Levi turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchen, throwing a sassy look and a beckoning finger over his shoulder. “Come help me make dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Erwin complied, and moved quickly behind him. He satiated his interrupted arousal by walking with his arms wrapped around Levi as he travelled the kitchen, gathering ingredients for curry. Levi smirked, leaning into the broad body behind him, and poured two glasses of wine for them to sip while their meal simmered. Erwin was like one of those huge dopey dogs who always seemed to have a smile—at least, around his boyfriend he was. Erwin Smith was the king of rhetorical devices, and he had the ability to manipulate anyone into doing anything he wanted. However, he trusted Levi enough to always let him have the last word. As Levi dragged a spoon around the yellow paste, Erwin’s lips planted a slow trail of kisses up and down his shoulders and neck and nuzzled the soft fuzz on the back of his undercut, breathing in the mingling scents of lemongrass and lavender from his shampoo, and the spices emanating from Levi's exquisite cooking.

Later, after Levi’s grueling TA work (which took him less time than it would have taken any normal human), they were lying in bed reading their respective current literature while Debussy drifted through the air. Erwin had just immersed himself in _A Game of Thrones_ , and was flipping through the pages with fanatic intensity, and Levi was perusing a collection of Yeats poems. The lights were low and tinted with a pale purple hue. Levi’s cardigan and loafers had been neatly replaced onto their respective hook and shelf; he now wore a v-neck and baggy sweatpants. Erwin was in a tank and boxers; his exposed muscles were a constant distraction to Levi.

Finally, Levi set his book down on the nightstand and turned to curl up facing Erwin. Erwin, after rushing to finish his chapter, did the same, placing his reading glasses onto the table on his side. They stared into each other’s eyes for a while.

“I love you,” Erwin whispered finally.

Levi smiled. The only time he really genuinely smiled was when he was alone with Erwin (well, Hanji and Petra had received their fair share of smiles in the past, but the moment was usually ruined by snarky comments from both parties). “I love you, too,” he replied in the same hushed tone. He scooted closer, turning around so that Erwin could spoon him. He felt safe and at home in his lover’s strong arms. “I know I don’t always let you know that. I’m sorry.” His tone was sad, pensive. He paused, trying to rationalize his train of thought. “It’s just that—y’know, we’re a relatively liberal college, but this area of the country is still so conservative, and I don’t want to give the wrong impression, or be seen as—”

Erwin brought a hand around to touch his lips and quiet him. “Shh. I know. I get it.” A pause. “Although, Tank and Colossus don’t seem to mind.”

“Those two are a completely different species, I swear,” Levi told him, chuckling. “They don’t mind at all. Where they’re from, it’s completely normal for two men to neck each other in public.”

“Sounds like heaven,” said Erwin, burying his face into soft black hair.

Levi huffed impatiently. “We just need to keep it on the down-low, okay, Erwin?” he said, his tone stubborn but gentle. “Cool it with the PDAs. Everyone knows we’re really close and that we’re housemates—but not everyone knows we share a bed as well.”

“Do you think they would think any less of us if they knew?”

There was a chilling silence in the air. Levi shifted around to look Erwin in the eye, and said with utter seriousness: “I do. I truly do.”

Erwin frowned. “You are a cynical goddamn misanthrope.”

It wasn’t meant as an insult and it wasn’t taken as one. Erwin felt Levi’s body quake with suppressed laughter. “I know I am.”

“You know, seeing all of those new kids today, it really brought me back to your orientation week.” Erwin seemed to change the subject, but there was something in his voice that suggested he was merely developing the conversation along the same strain.

“You were my group leader,” Levi remembered, a nostalgic smirk on his face.

“You said you were doubling in So/An and Psych, and I remember thinking to myself: ‘This guy hates people too much to devote his career to studying them.’”

“And then, right on cue, I said that I might as well study people so I could figure out why I hated them so much,” Levi recalled with a dark snigger. He had turned all the way back around now, nestled next to Erwin’s chest, filling his nostrils with the masculine scent he loved so dearly.

“But you _don’t_ ,” Erwin mumbled. “That’s the funny thing. You really don’t hate people.”

“I hate some people. Quite a few, actually. You, however, are not one of them.” Levi pulled Erwin’s face towards him and kissed him slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. They did, really. They could spend every night of the rest of their lives like this. He didn’t mind having to pretend that they were just friends; he wasn’t the affectionate snuggle bear that his boyfriend was. He was sure people were aghast when he smiled, let alone when he gave Erwin a hug.

Levi raised himself onto one elbow to lean over Erwin, giving more of himself to the kiss, letting his tongue lazily meander into Erwin’s mouth and along his bottom teeth. His other hand cradled Erwin’s cheek. The blonde’s arms wrapped around Levi’s midsection, dragging down to caress his lower back and around to firmly hold his hips. “I don’t hate you either,” Erwin whispered as they both broke for air, his body convulsing with a single hearty chuckle. Levi’s bangs fell onto Erwin’s forehead. Those incredible azure eyes were met with a heavy-lidded steel gaze, full of passion.

“Beloved, let your—” Levi began, his voice barely audible, stopping and bending to drag his teeth along Erwin’s throat. He dipped down to his clavicle, leaving a tender trail of kisses along the protruding ridge, and further still to bury his lips in the soft pale hair on Erwin’s chest.

Erwin picked up the recitation where his lover left off, his eyes fluttering closed. “Let your eyes half close, and your heart beat over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast.” His voice trailed off into nothingness.

Levi mouthed the rest into his skin. “Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.” He smiled as he saw that Erwin’s breathing had slowed and he had drifted into unconsciousness. Wrapping the man’s arm around his shoulders, he curled tightly around his body, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Indeed, he could fall asleep like this until the twilight of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Levi is a second-year grad student (he graduated in the spring of '15) working as a teaching assistant for the sociology department. He is twenty-three years old. I'll go deeper into his backstory (there will be heavy references to ACWNR) in future chapters. 
> 
> My headcanon Erwin will always be a man of enigmatic tastes--he finds beauty in Ravel and Monet, but also in Hawaiian shirts and sitcoms. He's an embarrassing grandpa and Levi is a secret hopeless romantic. They're both such dweebs. Old dweebs. 
> 
> Tank and Colossus (Reiner and Bertholdt, respectively) are the first of the "brother names" we learn about, all of which will be a blatant reference to something from the original story. It's a tradition in many frats to give all new members nicknames, often the result of an inside joke or an embarrassing mishap. (I knew a guy who was named "Cinderella" because he always stayed after house parties to clean up the mess. He was so bitter about it.)
> 
> Also, a note on why this fic has characters who are more prominently featured than others. Armin, Levi, Marco, Erwin and a few others are amazingly perceptive (at least in my world) and able to easily read people’s emotions; that makes it a lot easier to write their point of view, as I can indicate the motives and feelings of others without actually switching viewpoints. I will delve into the minds of some other characters, but I might need time to “live with them” before I do. 
> 
> The next chapter will pick up on prince Eren saving his damsel in distress, lots of emotions, and then a discussion on Trost's fraternities.


	4. Always Here When You Need Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I say ‘community service,’ but honestly, not many people know about what Sigma Chi does. They’re open about all of their service activities, you know, making the world a better place and all, but it’s obvious that something else is going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the story is just a whole lot of dialogue and introduction. I've still got a lot of exposition to do before I can get into the actual plot. Most everyone has been introduced by this point, although we still have yet to meet the other members of Sigma Chi (Hanji, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, and Team Levi all live in the Chi house together). I have so many of the later chapters mapped out and half-written, but I need to flesh out what I'm going to do to get to those points...storytelling is difficult.
> 
> Also, I just wanted to put here that my tumblr URL is iosaturnalia, and that you can shoot me an ask any time! I'm going to tag posts dealing with this fic as "sigma chi au" and "bruderlichkeit der freiheit," in case you were wondering.

_[4:39 PM] on my way, hold in there bud_

Armin opened the text and felt marginally more at ease. “My friend is coming. He’s really good at…dealing with me when I get like this,” he explained, taking deep breaths, replacing his phone into his pocket.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Jean, leaning forward in his chair.

“Eren Jaeger,” Armin replied, spotting Eren coming around the corner at lightning speed. He released a deep sigh of relief.

“Eren, I assume?” Boris asked as an introductory prompt, as Eren barreled into the group and towards where Armin was sitting. He received no answer—the boy was on a mission.

Eren put a hand on Marco’s shoulder, gently pushing him to the side. “I’ll take it from here.” Marco put his hands up in retreat and returned to his place next to Jean while Eren bent down in front of Armin. The blonde reached out to him, hands limply grasping at the air, and Eren pulled him into a tight hug. He was straddling him on the chair; the act was undoubtedly intimate on an emotional level, but it was completely chaste. “I’m here, Armin. I’m here,” he said into Armin’s ear.

Pulling back to kneel before him, Eren took Armin’s quivering hands in his own, stroking his fingers and drawing comforting circles onto his knee with the other hand. His vibrant eyes (today, a bright shade of turquoise) locked onto Armin’s, and the blonde felt a warm feeling resonate throughout his chest as he watched Eren’s name leave his lips. 

The others watched tentatively, unsure of what to say or do. Annie appeared disinterested, but there was a light in her eye that indicated otherwise; Marco and Jean both looked slightly terrified. Hitch looked as if she were stewing a method to gossip about this encounter; Armin would hunt her down if she did, and he let her know this with a piercing blue gaze.

“Sorry, Eren,” Armin whispered, pulling one of his hands away to run it through his friend’s hair. Eren brought the remaining hand to the side of his face, cradling it with a smile.

“You know I’m always here when you need me,” he murmured against the hand. Armin felt his voice vibrate through his skin and up his arm. His eyes shone, beads of moisture threatening to leak through. _No._ If he started crying, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He fought the tears back and continued to stroke Eren’s hair.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Marco’s eyebrows lift in realization, although it didn’t seem to be a sudden epiphany.

Armin was forever grateful that Eren was comfortable being this physically affectionate with him. Then again, they had known each other since preschool. _I’m more qualified to be his sibling than Mikasa is…_ he thought, and immediately tried to dismiss the thought. Armin sometimes resented Mikasa for her overprotectiveness and obsession with Eren’s well-being, and for Eren’s reciprocation of that protectiveness. Of course, it wasn’t like he didn’t care about Armin…but Armin couldn’t help but feel as if he deserved a greater portion of his friend’s attention. He had been in Eren’s life _first._ It was a selfish, outright bitchy thought, but one onto which he held nevertheless. He sometimes thought that Mikasa was jealous as well; the two of them were incredibly close, but there had always been a tension.

Armin remembered the first time he came to meet the newest member of the Jaeger household. Nothing was normal. Mikasa’s gaze was distant and unwelcoming. Eren had a sort of feral look to him—distracted, wild, fierce. The initial hug he gave Armin that day was nearly soul-crushing in its force, and he remembered fingernails digging into his back. That was when the episodes began. In his ignorance of the situation, Armin had assumed that the troubles had started because of Mikasa. The darkness of that belief, even after learning and understanding what had happened, never quite left him.

Eren looked up at Armin though long, dark eyelashes, the sight sending a rush of blood to Armin’s face. Eren was still muttering sweet encouragements into Armin’s hand, as if his body could hear the words. It probably could, because his skin had memorized every feeling of Eren’s lips, every shape of the loving words he had in his vocabulary. Eren was comfortable doing this because he and Armin had established an unbreakable trust between themselves. And Armin just _had_ to go and fall in love with him. He broke that trust. He would never be able to tell Eren…but the thought of living his life out with someone else than Eren caused a crushing sort of pain in his chest cavity.

Broken from his internal monologue, he felt a hand on his cheek, stroking his bangs out of his face and wiping away a single escapee tear. Armin looked down into those turquoise eyes. He desperately wanted to kiss Eren. It would be so much easier to say the words, telling Eren what he felt and what he needed, directly into his mouth. Armin let his gaze linger briefly on Eren’s slightly-parted lips, having to instruct every single muscle in his body not to lurch forward and plant a smooch on them.

“Thank you,” he said almost imperceptibly. Eren only had to crinkle his eyes a tiny bit, green and blue flecks sparkling in the afternoon sun, for Armin to understand the message. _Of course. You’ve got it. It’s nothing. Expect it._ Eren’s eyes communicated all of these things.

“You okay?” Eren asked, his voice now rising above a whisper. “You need me to stay with you?”

“You should go back to your group,” Boris instructed suddenly, standing behind Eren. “Who’s your orientation leader?”

Eren stood and turned to face him, still holding one of Armin’s hands. “Reiner Braun.”

“Figures…” Boris rolled his eyes, the gesture implicating exasperation and maybe a smidgeon of acrimony. Armin knew why; from what he could tell, Reiner had a kind and gentle heart, perhaps too much so—perhaps shirking his responsibilities for the sake of personal duty. Also, it was _possible_ (scratch that, it was a sure and definite _fact_ ) that he assumed Armin was Eren’s boyfriend, and thus Boris knew that he had some sort of…empathy with them? It wouldn’t be the first time people assumed it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“He said I could come over here.”

“I don’t doubt you. But you should probably head back. We take the orientation process very seriously, and I wouldn’t have you interrupting this activity just for—”

“Just for _what?_ ” Eren spit, his eyes burning with a sudden fury. Armin’s heart rate jumped again. _No, not here, please, Eren._ “What’s more important tha—”

“Eren,” Armin said, in the most soothing tone he could muster, and squeezed the brunette’s hand. He wished he could say _I’m fine, my love, my darling, my sweet, my dearest._ Armin was lucky he had been involved with drama as a child; his cover would have been blown years ago if not for his acting chops. “I’m fine, pal.” Eren’s pose shifted, as if he wanted to turn back to Armin, but he seemed to be frozen. Armin appreciated his desire to help, but it wasn’t worth it if it came at the cost of getting angry. “Eren, look at me.” His tone was firm; this met with success.

“I’m sorry.” Eren’s head was turned towards Armin but he kept his gaze down, ashamed of his public outburst.

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Boris.” This was a commonplace phrase—“apologize to insert-person-here.” Showing remorse was important.

Eren threw a look over his shoulder and muttered, “Sorry, Boris.”

“Very good.” Armin cupped Eren’s hand in his own and pressed a warm kiss to it. Armin and Mikasa had both learned, eventually, how to bring Eren out of an episode, how to use key words and phrases in a very specific voice. It had taken years to perfect their skills, but they would probably both be qualified to teach kindergarten by this point, because the rhetoric they employed with Eren was embarrassingly similar to that used to calm down a screaming toddler.

Eren’s face lit up with an endearing shade of crimson, and he ran his hand nervously through his hair. He started muttering an incomprehensible string of words that sounded vaguely remorseful—a series of apologies for an episode that never happened. His eyes shone with moisture, a pout forming on his lower lip. “I’m so sorry. I was just really on edge. Because I was worried about you and just—”

“Eren, don’t worry about it. We’re both okay now.” In worrying about Eren and not about himself, Armin’s anxiety seemed to have been placated. He stood from his chair and hugged Eren, pressing his lips to his ear and telling him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed or ashamed, that he had handled himself very well, and that Armin was proud of him. Eren hung his head in the blonde’s shoulder and relaxed into his touch.

The current situation now had made their audience slightly uncomfortable, as it was now clearly evident that not only one, but both of them, were completely out of their minds. Annie rolled her eyes. “Are we done?” she inquired boredly.

Armin nodded to her, sitting back down. “Yeah, it’s all under control now.”

“Glad to hear it. Why don’t you just sit with us for the remainder of the afternoon, Eren?” Boris asked, a little shaken by the incident but keeping a calm composure. “Introduce yourself.”

Armin patted a seat next to himself, and Eren sat down, wringing his hands. He gave a half-hearted wave in the general direction of the others. “Hi. I’m Eren Jaeger, from Shiganshina. I’ve known Armin since we were really little. He’s my best friend.”

Armin smiled and gave Eren’s hand a little squeeze, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t blush.

“ _Adorable_ ,” Hitch intoned in a low drawl, earning a glare from Jean.

“What do you plan on majoring in?” Boris asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. My dad wanted me to go into medicine like him, but I’m just going to try my hardest not to flunk,” Eren replied, flashing a toothy grin. Armin couldn’t help but smile; although he pitied the fact that Eren was academically inept, he admired his determination to succeed. When Eren wanted to do something, it would get done.

The afternoon continued smoothly. Boris had the new students fill out a questionnaire, and they asked him questions about the campus and its social structure. Everyone seemed to be particularly interested in the co-ed fraternity Mu Pi Beta, of which Boris was a member. Hitch, Jean and Marco were excitedly drilling him on what it meant to be a Mu Pi. He was wearing the same shirt as the rest of the orientation group leaders, but he pulled a white sweatshirt from his backpack and showed it to the group. It sported the letters MΠB in bold green print across the front, and on the back was a large crest with a horse and crossed swords.

“This symbol right here—that’s the closest you’ll get to having your school’s mascot on your clothing. We’re all _technically_ Trost Brigadiers, but know this: when people talk about the Brigadiers, they’re talking about Mu Pi.” He regarded the sweatshirt with admiration. “I mean, I’m not saying we’re the best of the three…” he started with a laugh.

“But you are,” Hitch finished, with an air of importance. “I’m gonna join, I know it.”

“Well, don’t be so sure yet. It’s the only fraternity with admission restrictions. We only take up to ten members per year.” Boris explained that, six weeks into the school year, a list of the new students’ grade point averages was released. Only the ten students with the top academic ratings in each college—Arts and Sciences, Business, Education, and Law—could be given a bid for Mu Pi. As some students weren’t interested in receiving a fraternity bid, the number was whittled down even further, but if someone did end up in the Top Ten, they generally wanted to congratulate themselves by joining a brotherhood of stellar reputation. The fraternity was small, but apparently they didn’t mind, because they had the kind of clout that meant advertisement and recruitment events weren’t needed. (As Armin learned through campus gossip later that week, the smallest fraternity, Sigma Chi, was dwindling in numbers and struggling to find interest.) Most students who didn’t make the Top Ten simply joined Gamma Rho, which did such things as maintain the campus, help with the admissions process, advertise the school at college fairs—simple tasks.

“So you pride yourself on having only the best of the best join your ranks?” Armin asked. He was more skeptical than the others; although he didn’t doubt that some of the school’s finest students belonged to Mu Pi, and it would be an honor to join. Still, they seemed to have a suffocating egotism about them.

“Yep. Prestige is our thing,” Boris responded with a wide smile. “We have a stunning record. The admin loves us. We exemplify collegiate excellence; we’re focused on multidisciplinary comprehension, a deeper understanding of classical knowledge, fine tuning of the scientific method, things like that. We make good students even better.”

Marco looked at Jean and grabbed his arm. “That sounds _awesome._ ” It did sound nice, Armin admitted to himself.

“So what, you don’t do any community service or anything?” Eren asked with a cocked eyebrow, sounding very underwhelmed.

“Well, we…” Boris, taken by surprise by the comment, was embarrassed. “We do, but that’s not our primary mission…”

“Why not?” Eren frowned.

“Because…” Boris seemed to formulate the best-sounding answer in his head before giving it. “Community service is kind of Sigma Chi’s thing.”

“Then I’m going to join Sigma Chi!” Eren cried.

 “I heard some students talking about them like they were bad news. Don’t let them drag you down,” Tom cautioned, clearly entranced by the mythical Mu Pi Beta.

“Community service can’t be _that bad._ Boris, tell us about Chi.” Marco was slower to put down the fraternity and more interested in finding out what it was about.

“Well…” Boris rubbed his arm awkwardly. “I say ‘community service,’ but honestly, not many people know about what they do. They’re open about all of their service activities, you know, making the world a better place and all, but it’s obvious that something else is going on.” He looked around, as if he suspected others were eavesdropping. “I’m probably not supposed to discuss this, but this is a safe space and nothing leaves this garden, right?” The students nodded. He took a breath and continued. “I’ve heard varying theories about what they really do. The other frats like to gossip, and people get really creative. The most popular theory right now is that they’re actually a neo-Marxist secret society that trains spies to infiltrate the American government—”

“That’s fucking rad!” Eren hollered, with a fist to the air. He clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it. “Sorry, language.”

“ _I_ heard that they’re actually a coven,” Hitch said secretively, a sly smile on her lips. “Like, witchcraft and all that. They meet at night and practice voodoo.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Armin interjected, feeling pity for this poor organization whose rivals were kicking it while it was down. “I’m sure they just keep their business to themselves because it’s their business and no one else’s.”

The kid named Daz laughed, adding his theory to the mix. “What if they’re actually an ancient order of cannibals who sacrifice college students to their demonic gods?”

Boris waved his arms to quiet down the murmurs and giggles. “Listen, listen, all I know is that they have a pattern of scaring off potential members, and sometimes even their actual members. I know several individuals who went inactive after just have a semester with them.”

Jean looked unimpressed with Chi’s mystique. “So basically, we have a choice between a vampire coven and the party at the Last Supper. I think I know who I’m going with.” A cocky, lopsided grin crossed his face and he shared a knuckle pump with Marco.

“Bullshit!” Eren shouted, earning a rather indignant scowl from Jean. Boris seemed unfazed; at this point, he had stopped trying to rein in the freshmen, and was just sitting back with his eyes closed in the summer heat. “I’ve heard that Sigma Chi is all about making the world a better place! Reiner and Bertholdt are both in it. That guy who spoke at the presentation—Erwin Smith—he was their president a couple of years ago.” The others’ eyes widened; Erwin’s speech had been unanimously well-received, apparently.

“Yeah, I was talking to a bunch of other freshmen about it and they said everyone looks up to them,” Sam said shyly, venturing a step in Chi’s favor.

Boris offered up the opinion that while Chi’s mission seemed legitimate, they could go about being “less shady.” He desperately felt the need to defend himself against Chi. _Geez, how insecure are these Mu Pi guys if they feel threatened by this tiny, unpopular frat?_ Armin thought amidst the dialogue.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what we join if we can’t get the grades,” Armin said finally, after some more argument about the merits of the fraternities. “Let’s just focus on our classes for now instead of prematurely committing ourselves.”

“Still. The involvement fair is this Friday, and you all should come,” Boris said, _needing_ to have the last word. Armin rolled his eyes; Boris looked at his watch. “Oh, look at the time, we went over. It’s five-thirty. The dining hall opens at five for dinner and closes at eight. We’ll break for now and meet tomorrow at the student union again, at one, right after lunch.” He smiled and stood, prompting the rest of the students to join him in walking back to the campus’ central plaza. Annie trudged off by herself, pulling out her phone to text someone—likely Reiner or Bertholdt. The three dark-haired boys went off by themselves, apparently going to try the pizza place down the block instead of the cafeteria food.

“Annie’s my roommate, imagine that,” Hitch said once she was out of sight, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t _wait_ to see how we get along. But I hear she’s smart, so maybe we can join Mu Pi _together_.”

“Wouldn’t that be a joy,” Boris said, trying to keep a smile on his face but only succeeding in looking slightly pained.

Armin turned away from their conversation, finding that it didn’t interest him in the slightest, and caught Marco’s gaze, which was illuminated by playfulness. Even before the words left his mouth, Armin knew exactly about what he was going to inquire.

“‘ _Friend_?’ No ‘boy’ in front of that?” Marco said softly to Armin, nudging his arm.

“What?” Eren butted into the conversation from Armin’s other side.

“Friend,” Armin said quickly, shooting him a sharp look that clearly spelled out: _I am, and I’d like to, but he’s not._

Marco frowned. “I see.”

“What did he say, Armin?” Eren pressed, beating his hands gently on Armin’s shoulder to get an answer from him.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Calm down.” Armin gave Eren a hug from the side.

Eren looked down dejectedly. Armin hated to let him believe they were talking about him behind his back, but the alternative wasn’t an option.

“What’s with horse face over there?” Eren whispered to Armin, indicating Jean, who was talking angrily under his breath as he kicked bits of foliage off the path.

Jean must have overheard, because his head turned and his hazel eyes lit up with a startling ferocity. “The fuck did you say?” He stopped briefly, glaring at Eren. Eren was immediately provoked. Marco and Armin exchanged a panicked glance. _Two hot tempers in the same place can never be a good idea._

“Why the long face, Mu Pi fanboy? Sad to hear about how Chi is so fucking awesome?” Eren jeered, making faces at Jean. Jean stepped forward in an offensive stance, his scowl turning quickly into a full-fledged snarl. Marco got between them and placed a palm on either of their shoulders before they could get into it.

“Okay, guys, be nice,” he said gently, looking between the two of them.

“He said I had a horse face!” Jean huffed, staring daggers into Eren’s fiery eyes.

“Your face _is_ kind of long,” Marco said, cocking his head to the side as if he were judging Jean’s facial proportions. “But it’s all right. It suits you, you’ve got nice cheekbones.” He smiled and placed a hand on the side of Jean’s cheek, which was quickly swatted off. Jean looked pissed, but he was blushing nonetheless, Armin noted. Marco chuckled to himself and continued walking. In his peripheral vision, Armin saw Eren give Jean the “I’m watching you” gesture with two fingers and another mocking face.

The group arrived at the dining hall. There were separate stations for different kinds of meals—among them were a comfort foods section which was serving some ham and sweet potato dish, a vegan line which had a quinoa salad and various fruit and vegetable medleys, and a cosmopolitan station which rotated out a couple of nationalities by the day (today, it was Italian and Thai).

“Well, our group split up beforehand, so I guess you don’t have an obligation to sit together, but it would be nice if you did,” Boris said, sighing. Armin didn’t feel particularly drawn to him, and decided it would be better if he just found Mikasa and sat with his friends.

“I’ll sit with you, Boris,” Hitch said, flashing an uncomfortably sweet smile at him. They walked off to a corner of the cafeteria that was serving barbeque; she was still asking him about every aspect of Mu Pi Beta.

The remaining four—Armin, Eren, Jean and Marco—looked at each other. “Let’s sit together!” Marco suggested. “I’d like to get to know you all better.”

“Fine.” Jean mumbled, and looked down, as if he were embarrassed to sit with this shining beacon of a human being—as _if_. “I guess if we’re gonna live together, we might as well talk.”

Marco smiled and clapped a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Let’s meet back at that booth over there.” He pointed at a large booth in the corner of the dining area and gestured for Jean to follow him to the comfort foods section.

Five minutes later, they were seated, plates loaded up with hot food and glasses bubbling with soda pop. About to bite into a slice of ham, Jean watched as Marco lowered his eyes and said a quiet grace over his meal, and crossed himself. Marco noticed Jean staring, and smiled at him before digging into his food.

Just as Armin was about to take his first bite of linguine alfredo, a loud and familiar voice resonated through the dining space and caught his attention. He turned around just in time to spot Reiner, who had placed a large hand on Eren’s shoulders, taking the brunette by surprise.

“Hey, newbs!” the huge man exclaimed with a laugh. Bertholdt slunk up behind him, holding a plate with a tiny portion of mushroom and barley salad. Reiner gestured for his boyfriend to take a seat; the tall brunette scooted in next to Marco, giving him a small smile of greeting, and Reiner took the seat opposite him, next to Armin. He immediately plunged into his plate full of stir-fried vegetables, and grimaced upon swallowing. “This food never gets any less shitty.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s fine,” said Marco, chewing a bite of sweet potato. He was clearly bullshitting, because he must have gotten used to better food in Europe.

“You say that now, but just wait,” Reiner warned. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t introduced himself, and he held out his hand with a friendly smile, which Marco took and shook firmly. “Reiner Braun. I was Eren’s group leader before he ran off to save his b—”

Armin nudged Reiner with his elbow under the table as he spoke, giving Reiner the same look he had given Marco earlier—the magical nonverbal communication of queer folks.

“To help his friend.” Reiner corrected himself. He looked at Bertholdt, who was picking at his salad with slow, dainty bites.

Bertholdt caught his eye and started in his seat. “Oh. I’m Bertholdt Hoover,” he introduced himself quietly, waving shyly to Jean and Marco. “Reiner’s boyfriend.”

Armin’s eyes traveled to Jean as he watched him tense up subconsciously, his eyes widening just so at the mention of “boyfriend.” _Oh, fuck._

“You two are a simply _adorable_ couple,” Marco offered with a grin.

The two looked at each other lovingly across the table, and replied in unison: “We know.”

The table was silent for a couple of minutes as they ate, and then they heard a high-pitched squeal behind them. Sasha, the cookie girl, was prancing into the center of the dining hall. “So much _food_!” she exclaimed, spinning around to take in the variety of options. Connie was beside her, holding her arm steady so that she didn’t get dizzy. Mikasa walked in slowly after them, turning her head to spot Armin and Eren, and walked over. She took the empty seat next to Eren.

“Did you get any food?” he asked, concerned at her lack of a plate. Sasha and Connie had disappeared excitedly into the lines.

“I’m not really hungry,” she said, but nonetheless picked up a couple of tempura-fried vegetables from Eren’s plate and tucked them into a napkin for herself.

“This is my sister Mikasa,” Eren stated to the rest of the table, stroking the fringe of the red scarf she _always_ wore.

“Sister? Really?” Jean asked with a sneer, apparently not polite enough to keep his observation of their obvious racial discrepancy to himself. Eren glared at him, about to say something when Mikasa preemptively interrupted him.

“Not biological, but still his sister,” she explained shortly, meeting Jean’s gaze. He seemed to soften at her glance, even though her gray eyes were sharp as steel.

“No, I mean, I was just…” He stammered, trying to find an explanation. “It’s just that I didn’t think Jaeger here could be related to a creature of such beauty.”

Mikasa narrowed her eyes and muttered out an unflattered “thanks.” Marco, feeling Jean’s secondhand chagrin, put his face in his hands.

“You gonna hit on my sister, Mister Ed?” Eren asked through ground teeth. Mikasa whispered something into his ear, and his expression changed immediately to one of bitter placation.

Jean was calmed by a hand on his shoulder and Marco’s sweet smile. “Jean was just joking, right, buddy?” he said. Marco was a skilled peacekeeper; he might prove to be incredibly useful to Eren.

Reiner and Bertholdt had disconnected from the freshman drama. They looked at each other, intertwining their fingers with the hands they weren’t eating with. Sasha and Connie arrived at the table with trays overflowing with food, and soon, with their lively presence, the conversation at the table had shifted to one that was peaceful and happy. As the freshmen discussed the classes which they hoped to take, Armin noticed a tall brunette with strikingly sharp features and a tiny blonde girl, who possessed a divine sort of beauty. _I mean, I’m a Kinsey six,_ Armin thought, _but this girl is absolutely_ gorgeous.

The pair had attracted the eyes of everyone else at the table as well; the tall woman sat next to Bertholdt, wrapping her arm around him with a devious smile. “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite homos!” she laughed, ruffling the dark shagginess atop Bertholdt’s head.

“Hi, Ymir,” Bertholdt cringed at having his hair mussed, but gave the woman a kiss on the cheek, blushing.

The little blonde sat beside Reiner, looking up at him with a sweet twinkle in her eye. Their size difference was laughable. “Who’s this?” Reiner asked, and shook her tiny hand.

“This is Krista,” Ymir said. “She’s in my group, but she got here early this morning and I was assigned to go pick her up from the airport. We hit it off immediately.” She sighed, resting her head in her hand. “I’m already researching engagement rings.” It was (hopefully) a joke, but she did look rather infatuated with the blonde, who was turning a deep shade of salmon and playfully swatting Ymir’s arm.

“Our resident lesbian,” Reiner whispered to Armin. “What can you do?”

“Someone get these two a U-Haul!” Marco called. Half the table erupted with a laugh, while the other, decidedly more heterosexual half looked vaguely confused. The conversation continued with vivacity and an increased sense of camaraderie, as everyone came to get to know each other. Armin could tell that, although there were some tensions within the group, they were going to be an unstoppable force as a team.

“So, are any of you twerps interested in joining Sigma Chi?” Ymir finally asked. She, Reiner and Bertholdt had been the Chi new member class two years ago—they were apparently nicknamed the Titanic Trio, because at an average height of six feet between the three of them, they were the tallest new member class of all time. Their vibrant range of personality had earned them some other nicknames, but they always felt pride in being known as the Titans.

“I am!” Eren exclaimed, nearly jumping over the table in his excitement.

“If Eren is, then I am too,” Mikasa added. She would always be where her brother was, always making sure that he stayed out of trouble and out of harm’s way. Even if Eren didn’t have a mom anymore, he certainly had a mother-like figure in his life. Armin envied him, but also was grateful that he had the freedom to live without judgment being passed on his every action.

“I guess I am as well,” Armin said, receiving an encouraging punch in the arm from Eren.

“I am most definitely _not,_ ” countered Jean, who had a smug smirk on his face. Armin noticed that in the presence of a greater number of people, people with whom he hadn’t talked much, he seemed to exude much more confidence than he did at their garden meeting. “I’d much rather play it safe and join Mu Pi Beta.”

Ymir gave him a scornful look, as if offended by his coolness. “They’re a bunch of stuck-up pricks, you know that? Are you gonna be like them?”

“They’re excellent students and multitalented individuals,” he shrugged in reply. “I’d like to be like that.”

“What, are you afraid?” Reiner asked suddenly. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating, but with his bony, arched brows and large stature, he couldn’t help it. Jean stiffened, his cool attitude turning ice cold in a second.

“Of what?” Jean hissed, defensively shrinking into himself while simultaneously trying to remain on the offense.

“Of what you don’t know,” Bertholdt’s voice was low and, were it not for his awkward and gentle disposition, one would peg him as menacing as he stared Jean down with wide green eyes.

Seeing Jean’s discomfort with the upperclassmen’s confrontation, Marco took over, proposing a reason for their decision that didn’t undermine Sigma Chi. “Jean and I are going to join Mu Pi simply because we want to represent this school in the best way possible.”

“So am I,” droned a low female voice who had just entered the vicinity.

“Annie!” Reiner beamed, reaching out to squeeze her hands as she passed him. “How good of you to join us.”

Annie walked around the table to stand behind Bertholdt, bending down to kiss his forehead, and climbed into his lap. He accepted her small frame with ease; his salad was still partially uneaten, but it didn’t seem like he was going to get to it any time soon. “Been wondering where you were,” she said. “Didn’t think I’d find you with the nerd herd.”

Reiner gave the rest of a group an apologetic look that meant: _That’s our Annie, she doesn’t know half the things that come out of her mouth._

“I didn’t know you wanted to join Mu Pi…” Bertholdt mentioned as he moved her long bangs from her face, changing the subject.

“I, um…I’m just not sure if being a Chi is right for me,” she said. Reiner and Bertholdt gave her a hard, long look, full of all sorts of mysterious implication and backstory that Armin couldn’t even begin to guess. All he knew was that Annie’s excuse was certainly not the real reason she didn’t want to join her friends.

“Ah, well,” Reiner said, leaning back in his chair. “Not like we can force you.”

“You know I’d beat your ass if you tried,” Annie challenged him, the smallest hint of a smile crossing her lips. She met Reiner’s gaze and squinted at him; there was a glint of jollity in her blue eyes that didn’t quite reach the rest of her face.

“No, Annie, don’t hurt Reiner!” Bertholdt scolded her, wrapping his lanky arms around her in a crushing hold. She struggled against him, but it was clear that his muscle tone bested her escape stratagem. He laughed quietly at his victory, but it was short-lived, as she suddenly managed to elbow him in the face. Surprised, he let her go; she stood up and raced around the other side of the table to wrestle with Reiner, who had pushed his chair back and was now assuming a defensive stance. The rest of the table watched in awe as she threw him to the ground, and proceeded to roll around trying to block his punches, before a cafeteria worker came to break them up.

At about nine o’clock, they had to leave the dining hall. The party departed with fond farewells, wishing each other a good night. Armin, Eren and Mikasa began walking towards their dorm, and soon realized that Jean and Marco were following them.

“You’re in Maria too?” Marco asked, jogging a little to catch up to Armin. “What a happy coincidence! Which room?

“330,” the blonde replied.

“No way! We’re in 332! Looks like we get to share a suite!”

“Oh, _joy,_ ” drawled Jean with a roll of his eyes. Eren frowned ferociously at him.

“It’ll be fun, I’m sure,” Marco said, throwing a warning glance at Jean. He leaned down to whisper into Armin’s ear. “ _If_ we can keep our boys in line.” Armin looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and they were silent the rest of the way to the dorm.

Once they got to the door, Jean and Eren went in, trudging into their respective rooms and slamming the doors, so as to make sure they were separated from each other. Marco and Armin stayed in the small connecting room.

“ _Our_ boys?” Armin asked in a low voice, settling down on the couch. Marco smiled cockily at him, leaning against the wall.

“Well, you’ve clearly got Eren in the bag—”

“No I haven’t—” Armin interjected, too quickly and quietly for Marco to notice—

“—and as for Jean, I’m confident I’ll have conquered that ass in no time.”

Armin chuckled incredulously, knowing as well as his newfound freckled friend that it was a task more easily said than done. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Marco nodded in agreement, but waved his hand to dismiss the doubt. “You know, I think there’s hope.” He looked ahead in silence for a moment, shaking his head and pondering the situation. “He’s the most pitiful closet case I have ever met.” His face hardened with optimistic determination. “And I’m making it my personal mission to bring him out.”

Armin looked down. It was clearly evident that Jean was easily flustered by Marco’s quasi-affectionate gestures, chaste and platonic as they may have been. Yet he seemed to be made uncomfortable with the abundance of queerness in the company of the dinner table. His straight-laced posture and expression contrasted comically with his bleach-blonde fauxhawk and his undercut and the nearly-healed dimples in his earlobes (he clearly didn’t think anyone would notice, but _Armin noticed everything_ ).

“Marco, he’s pretty far in there. He’s practically in Narnia,” Armin joked.

Marco laughed at this. It might have been inappropriate to make light of an unfortunate situation such as this, but they had time to play around before the painful process of outing Jean would occur. Armin had witnessed the situation several times in high school. It was a messy undertaking, but one that usually turned out for the best.

“Seriously, Marco,” Armin said, standing and extending a hand to Marco. “Good luck.”

“Good luck with yours, too,” Marco said, shaking his hand.

With their hands still clasped together, the two wished each other a “good night” simultaneously, after a moment of awkward pause. Another moment passed. Marco pulled Armin into a close hug.

“And if our luck runs short and we get… _frustrated_ , you know I’m just a door away,” the brunette murmured, his breath ghosting over Armin’s hair and his hand travelling across his back in slow, sensual circles. While the motion was physically comforting, it made Armin slightly uncomfortable in context. Did Marco actually just…proposition him?

Armin pushed away. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he told him, a little stunned by this sudden development. As he turned around to head into his room, he shook his head. _No, Marco wouldn’t just sleep around like that just because it was the only convenient option._ He looked back at Marco, who was watching him leave; the low light of the lamp on the end table looked like a halo around his head. _Sweet, friendly, pacifistic Marco…could there be a side to him that I’m not seeing?_

When he entered his room, Eren was pulling on an old t-shirt he wore to bed. “Woah, you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Armin said quickly, and looked around at his bags, trying to figure out which one had his pajamas in it. There were still a few bags in the van, but they wouldn’t need them for tonight. He stripped down to his boxers, pulling a pale yellow nightshirt from his suitcase and throwing it on. The entire motion was quick and fluid; he was insecure about the extra pounds on his body. He was soft and untoned and had to catch his breath when he ran any further than a hundred feet. He didn’t have the kind of insane abdominals that Mikasa had built up or Eren’s understated but formidable biceps.

When he was fully dressed, he turned around, mortified to see that Eren was looking at him with a tender smile. He blushed from head to toe, and the realization hit him like a wave—he would be living with Eren, in the same 20’-by-16’ room, for an entire school year, and hopefully longer. They had lived together in Eren’s house for the last five years, but they had never shared a room (he had shared one with Mikasa, as she refused to leave him just in case something happened during the night).

“I’m really excited to live with you, Armin,” he said. Like butter in a microwave, every ounce of doubt and fear in Armin’s heart melted away with that smile. Armin bolted forward and threw his arms around Eren, overflowing with joy. Someday, he promised himself, he would get to kiss the lips that formed that smile. But for now, he was happy enough with the knowledge that Eren loved him. Sure, it was platonic, but love was love, and the feeling in Armin’s heart overwhelmed him.

“Me too,” he said, and climbed into his bed, feeling warm and safe, and entirely at _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WILD SEXUAL TENSION!
> 
> First off, I think it's pretty clear from my writing, via Armin's incredibly sassy inner monologue, that I'm not exactly Mikasa's biggest fan. However, I think I'll learn to get inside her head, so writing from her perspective in the future will help me to understand her better. 
> 
> I'm not really qualified to provide a real diagnosis on what conditions Armin and Eren have, because issues of these sort affect everyone differently and I want to be sensitive, but here is what I'm going for: Eren has anger management issues and probably some sort of attention deficit disorder (and also experiences night terrors, but that will come later). I was tempted to experiment with Eren having tourette's, but I don't know enough about it to write it realistically. Armin has a an inferiority complex, anxiety, depression, and maybe PTSD. These are broad descriptors and you can interpret them as you like.
> 
> The layout of the dorm suites is as follows: there is a single door leading to a small common room, which has a sofa and a coffee table. From here are three doors--one ahead, two to either side. On either side is a two-person bedroom, and ahead is the shared bathroom, which also connects to the bedrooms. 
> 
> In the next chapter, things will get personal and the students will reveal more about themselves. And our freckled gayngel will start his mission to get some booty. Also, expect lots more tasteless half-assed Marco jokes. (Some of them are completely unintentional, I swear. They just happen.) 
> 
> PS. Chubby!Armin is my life.


	5. What Is This, The Breakfast Club?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, guys, we’ve all known each other for a few days, and we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. I wanted to sort of open up the floor for a more personal discussion. It’s important that we all trust each other enough to share what’s in our hearts.”
> 
> Warnings: homophobic slurs, mentions of eating disorder, child abuse and neglect, implication of sexual assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this is later than I had anticipated. These earlier chapters are mostly me wandering around slice-of-life moments and trying to progress towards major plot points. I'll try to be more punctual for future chapters. 
> 
> This is mostly from Armin's POV, and then Levi's and Marco's. 
> 
> Also, a lot of movie references? I like a good peppering of pop culture in my fic. I hope you do too.
> 
> (My tumblr URL is iosaturnalia. Love me.)

Friday, September 2nd.

It was the final day of the orientation activities. Thank god. That meant it was the last day Armin had to endure Hitch caterwauling about the merits of Mu Pi Beta, and the absentminded concurrence from the rest of the group.

(Well, Marco wasn’t absentminded, but he was willing to travel the route of elitism if it meant he would spend more time with Jean. Armin wasn’t sure if he admired his determination or if he just pitied his ill-fated crush. Jean hadn’t seemed to budge from his pillar of heteronormativity in the last four days, and was increasingly finding ways to use the phrase “no homo” in a sentence. Marco endured it, bless his soul.)

Armin took a moment to scan the faces counterclockwise around him, internally taking roll—to his right sat Reiner, then Bertholdt, Annie (who only occasionally joined them), Ymir, Krista, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Connie, Jean, and Marco. The group had become regularly composed of these individuals, and they were all sitting at lunch before the day’s events. Armin was speaking to Marco in low tones about how quickly Krista and Ymir’s relationship had blossomed. Ymir was spooning some sort of cranberry oatmeal into Krista’s mouth while the tiny blonde blushed and giggled, pressing gentle kisses to the brunette’s cheek. Marco nudged Armin and gestured towards Sasha and Connie, who had started excitedly discussing the course schedules that were to be revealed soon.

“Think that’s gonna happen?” he whispered, squinting at them mischievously.

“I don’t see why not,” Armin murmured, shrugging. “They’ve been joined at the hip since they met.”

Armin was startled by Reiner’s loud voice, suddenly cutting into their conversation. “Guess all those _bonding activities_ are working, right?”

Marco smirked, an exasperated expression crossing his brows, and he turned his head towards Jean, who was telling Sasha and Connie that he hoped he would be able to register for French. Mikasa took the opportunity to add that she would hopefully be able to take a high-level Japanese course, as she had independently studied the language through high school.

When he heard her voice, Jean paused, gazing at her from across the table. “Hey, Mikasa…” he started, batting his eyelashes at the dark-haired girl.

“What.” The reply was flat and unamused, not so much a question as an acknowledgment.

He leaned in across the table and—Armin guessed he was trying to be smooth, or something—crooned: “How do you say ‘I adore your luscious raven locks’ in Japanese?”

Marco’s head actually dropped to his sternum, overcome by second-hand embarrassment.

Mikasa looked at Eren, who was shaking his head, and said only: “ _Tonchiki._ ” Eren snorted and nodded in accordance; he and Armin both understood, as they had helped Mikasa review flash cards of various groups of words. One large stack had been entirely insults; she had looked through them extensively and memorized every one, “just in case” she needed them.

Jean clearly had no clue. “She totally wants me,” he muttered, nudging Marco with a smile.

Marco crossed his arms. His lips twisted in mock confusion; he might as well play along with this act. “Why do you like her so much? She won’t give you the time of day.”

“I guess I just have a thing for Asians, man.” Jean laughed, and then exchanged a glare with Eren.

Marco simply shook his head and dropped the subject completely. “So, you want to take French? Didn’t you say your family was from France?”

“Yeah.” Jean smiled, pleased that Marco had remembered.

“Parlez-vous Français?” the dark-haired boy inquired.                                 

“Un peu, ne pas bien,” Jean replied with a shrug, with an atrocious lack of nasality.

Marco ruffled Jean’s hair and grinned. “That’s pretty good! Your accent needs a little work, but I’ll help you with it.”

Jean smoothed his hair back down and rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, I never really learned. Just did a little research online.” He paused. “Are your folks from France too?”

“No, my father is Italian,” Marco replied with vigor, happy that his change of pace had caught on. “My parents met there and moved to Jinae right after I was born. My _nonno_ ’s family is mostly in Vadena. I never knew them very well before I visited them, but they let me stay with them for a few weeks. Absolutely lovely people. I guess my dad wasn’t too close with my _zia_ and _zio_ , because they asked me how he was and then dropped the subject.” He looked down. Armin sensed a certain sadness in the words.

Connie extended a hand to get Marco’s attention. “Parli Italiano?” he asked excitedly.

“Si!” Marco exclaimed. Then a mischievous look crossed his face, and he raised a finger to amend his statement. “Scommetto io parlo ma meglio di te fa.” Connie stared blankly at him, trying to procure some sort of reasonable response. Marco helped him along; “it means _you suck_ ,” he whispered.

Connie laughed, and shouted “Vaffanculo!”

“Parole di combattimento!” Marco gasped, raising a palm to his chest in playful shock. “Ammetti—sai solo come dire parolacce.” He placed his other thumb behind his front teeth and flicked it towards Connie, smiling at the corners of his mouth.

Connie frantically looked around at the rest of the table, none of whom could translate for him. He finally shrugged, conceding defeat. “I got nothin’. I just watched _The Godfather_ and thought it sounded cool.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Marco leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, and smirked.

Armin took this opportunity to steer the conversation back to its original path. “So, if your dad is Italian, where’s your mom’s side from?” Marco had already told him the answer to this question, but the conversation was evolving perfectly to set a harmless little trap for Jean. Marco beamed at Armin, silently thanking him for asking, before turning back to Jean with a sly smile and answering.

“The Philippines.”

Jean stared at him for a second, and then turned a charming shade of strawberry. He looked down, fiddling with his thumbs. “Huh.”

Marco wasn’t quite satisfied. He ran a hand through his well-groomed hair, shaking his head a bit to let his short bangs fall into place. Jean’s eyes darted up to watch the motion, and then came down again just as quickly. “Guess that accounts for my _luscious raven locks_ , huh?” Marco chuckled. He gave Jean a gentle punch in the arm; the spindly man shied away from the contact, lips turning downward into his trademark frown.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he murmured under his breath.

Marco turned away from Jean, resting his jaw on his left hand, and gave Armin, Reiner and Bertholdt the most forced, insincere Pan Am smile, as if he were at the end of his rope. They could only offer him varying looks of pity. He raised a hand in a mock pistol to shoot himself in the right eye, his head falling over the back of the booth.

-

A half hour later, they had just walked over from the dining hall, and were now sitting in their usual seats in the garden. There was an atmosphere of anticipation, as they expected something interesting to happen for the last activity.

“Well, guys, we’ve all known each other for a few days, and we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well,” Boris said, with a brief glance at Armin. “I wanted to sort of open up the floor for a more personal discussion. It’s important that we all trust each other enough to share what’s in our hearts.” This elicited an intrigued smile from Marco, and a disinterested yawn from Annie and then Jean.

 _Perfect. Time to tell the rest of campus what it’s like inside my brain,_ Armin thought. Eren had been sent back to his group and, although Reiner had been informed about the whole situation, he told Armin it would be helpful for him if he could stand on his own two feet. Armin was thankful that Reiner wasn’t condescending or patronizing about it—he was honest and caring, like a parent who was teaching their child how to survive in the real world.

“I’d like to just go around and answer a few questions about ourselves. You can share as much as you want—I won’t press anything. Stay within your comfort zone.” Boris’ eyes darted from Marco to Armin, as if subtly reprimanding them for creating a scene the other day. “I’d like you to address two things: something that makes you feel insecure, and something that makes you feel proud. In that order. Let’s end on a happy note.”

Boris then began to talk about how he had always been sort of a pessimistic individual, and he worried too much. He was apparently mocked for this, told that his hair would go grey if he got any more stressed out. As he had a genetic predisposition for early greyness, he said that this made him worry even more. His “happy note” was that he felt that he was very good at balancing his budget, and was excited to be the treasurer for Mu Pi this year. The group gave him a scattered round of applause before he handed the floor to Hitch.

Hitch recounted, with tears in her eyes, how she had grown up in a wealthy neighborhood where looks and breeding were everything, and that she had always been pressured to be “perfect.” Armin couldn’t help but feel sorry for her when she said that she was proud that she actually made it to college, and wouldn’t be just another high school has-been serving up Frappucinos with misspelled names.

Marco was at bat now, and he took a deep breath. He spoke hesitantly, as if he were nervous to expose this side of himself. “Um. I guess…I guess I’m insecure about…my loneliness? That sounds weird, I know.”

“No, go on,” Armin encouraged him.

Marco made an explanatory gesture, raising his hands. “I’m just gonna start this off by saying: I’m gay. I’ve always been gay, I’ve never had any doubts about it. My parents—well, I should say, my parents and I—we’re all Catholic. Very, very devout, perfect little family, went to Mass every Sunday, _te Deum laudamus._ ”

Jean shifted in his chair, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. He was watching Marco intently, leaning forward with his hands in his lap. He had clearly taken an interest in the way Marco’s story was progressing—Armin guessed that he, too, was Catholic, as he had spotted a crucifix pendant around his neck on Wednesday.

“See, I—I’m a very different _kind_ of Catholic from my parents. I focus on the big picture of the Bible, love and acceptance and equality and all. But, my parents—” he chuckled anxiously—“my parents think it’s really fun to cherry-pick the Levitical law.” He smiled that “kill me now” smile Armin had seen at lunch, a sarcastic shit-eating grin across the width of his face. Armin gave him a sympathetic look, not quite a smile.

Marco’s face turned to seriousness once again. “My parents had never been the kind to sugarcoat things. I either did what they wanted or I got ignored. And I guess I should have tried to hide my sexuality, but I never wanted to. And so, when I was in middle school, I came out to them, very matter-of-factly—it’s not like it was the world’s biggest surprise. And they just…stopped talking to me.” He combed his fingers through his bangs, holding his forehead weakly. “Mom would do my laundry, Dad would give me allowance. It was a very normal household, simply without love and warmth. They stopped talking to each other, too. Guess they cared more about how God hated fags than about how God said marriage was for life.”

The group bristled together, clearly uncomfortable with Marco’s obvious bitterness. Jean was looking down now in self-contemplation.

Marco continued, gesticulating towards everyone in the group. “Now, I don’t know if any of you come from divorced families. The thing about divorce is, I guess, if you _actually love_ both of your parents, you’re supposed to feel like your life is splitting in two, like you’re being torn in half between them, and they’re both supposed to want a part of you.

“But the funny thing is…” He laughed ironically, trying to keep his composure. “They were separated, yeah.  But—they waited a while to actually get the divorce. They didn’t sign the papers until June 16th, 2015. Right after I graduated. _My 18 th birthday._ They wanted so badly to get away from each other, but they were willing to wait until they didn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” His voice cracked, and he wiped at his eyes, losing his sense of equilibrium. “Neither of them wanted me. It couldn’t have been any clearer if Michael Corleone had walked in the room and said: 'You’re nothing to them now.'" His voice sputtered and his head fell into his hands. “I’m dead to them.” Jean reached out tentatively to rest his hand on Marco’s back, rubbing comforting circles into it.

“And you said this makes you feel lonely?” Boris prompted carefully, after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, it fuckin’ makes me feel lonely!” Marco spat, bolting upright. He looked at Jean momentarily so as to apologize for startling him. His tone was short and furious as he spoke in rapid-fire. “I started sleeping around when I was in high school, just to spite them. I was so proud of myself for sucking as many dicks as I could find, when it was _so disgusting_ to them, that I didn’t even realize why I maybe shouldn’t have.” He laughed, in spite of himself.

“And when I graduated and they didn’t have to treat me like their ward anymore, they gave me a massive check and told me to hit the road. And I did. I traveled to as many places as I could, and I was so happy. Let me tell you: the world is so vast. Jinae is just a _tiny_ little dot on a map, with _tiny_ little people, who don’t know how to live without their little book.” He held his head up high, coming to a revelation. The tempo of his speech slowed drastically. “I guess that’s what I’m proud of. Taking my life into my own hands and being proud of who I am.”

“Well, Marco, that’s... quite a story. You’re an inspiration to us all.” Boris’ voice was incredibly awkward, and he looked as if he didn’t intend this to get so personal.

Marco wiped at his tears, and sniffed, smiling. “I try.”

Jean reached over to Marco’s knee to touch his hand. The dark-haired boy looked at him, surprised at the tenderness of the gesture. Jean gave him a very genuine smile, and said: “You know, it means a lot that you’d be willing to share that much with us. For a gay guy, you’ve sure got balls.”

 _Wow. Way to ruin the moment, jackass,_ Armin thought with an internal sigh.

Marco narrowed his eyes at him and said very slowly: “ _Thaaanks_.”

“Jean, are you prepared to share as much?” Boris asked, internally crossing his fingers and praying that _he wasn’t._ These kids were just a bunch of emotional wrecks.

Jean laughed awkwardly. “Well, what is this, _The Breakfast Club_?”

Marco responded to this reference with a toothy grin, still slightly congested. “Fan _tastic_ movie.” He turned to Jean, seemingly planning Halloween costumes early. “You would make a _brilliant_ Bender.”

“And you’d be a great Claire Standish, princess,” Jean replied with a smirk.

Marco smiled smugly and crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that at _all_.”

Jean was silent for a second while he collected his thoughts, and then spoke in a low voice. “You know…it’s funny you mention that, because you know the ‘what about you, Dad’ scene? I relate _heavily_ to that representation of fatherhood—or lack thereof.”

The group was silent as some of the students sat in confusion, having never seen the _Breakfast Club,_ and others processed the implication of Jean’s words.

Marco’s expression grew concerned and he started towards Jean with a rueful frown. “Shit, Jean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to joke about—”

Jean placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back. He closed his eyes and his brows furrowed. “No, you know, I might as well get it out, because I’ve never talked about it, and I’ve never really even thought about it either.

“Basically, my dad’s not around most of the time. He’s the CEO of our business, some equine transportation service deal, so he’s usually off on some trip across the country, makin’ the big bucks for us back home. My mom usually just sits around and watches shitty soap operas and _occasionally_ makes dinner.” His eyes wandered aimlessly, recalling his past. With a sudden start, he continued in a cautious voice.

“And my folks are Catholic too, so I guess I kinda know how you feel about that…stuff. I was never the _man_ that my dad wanted me to be. I always had to go and get some _faggy_ haircut or _faggy_ dye job or _faggy_ fucking _ear piercings_.”

Armin and Marco exchanged a glance, and simultaneously let out the breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding.

“Are you?” Marco asked under his breath.

“Am I what?”

“Are you…gay?” Marco _had_ to already know what the answer was going to be, but apparently he thought it appropriate to ask anyway.

“No, I’m not fucking _gay_!” Jean cried, flustered. “That’s dis—” He caught himself, carefully meeting Marco’s gaze. “That’s not me, man.”

Marco raised his palms defensively. “Okay.”

Jean ruffled his hair frustratedly, clenching and unclenching his fists. “It’s just…another excuse for them to ridicule me. I don’t want to have to be this macho man’s man just for the sake of my dad. I want to just be _me._ ” He paused. “Dad wanted to ship me off to the military as soon as I graduated, to make sure I’d shape up, but my mom freaked out and let me apply here instead.

“I used to—well, I used to be on the larger side, when I was a kid. I really liked food.” A pleasantness overtook his face as he remembered his childhood. “My grandma taught me how to cook before she died. I wanted to be a chef. Gave that dream up quickly, when my dad said it was a woman’s job to cook. But I _loved_ food.” He looked into the distance, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember his train of thought. “My dad ordered me to lose weight. Said I wouldn’t get any girlfriends looking like I did. So I tried to stop eating. But it wasn’t that easy, so I found a new way.” His voice grew very quiet. “When I was fifteen they diagnosed me with bulimia.”

Armin looked over Jean’s thin frame; while he was relatively toned, his limbs were lanky and awkward, and he appeared as though he still hadn’t gotten used to his new body. “Oh, Jean,” Marco said sadly, taking Jean’s hand in his own.

Jean retracted the hand, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I stopped when I was sixteen, went to rehab, I’m fine now. But I guess you could say I’m still pretty insecure about the way I look.” He had nothing else to add after that.

Marco’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Where’d you get your hair done?” he asked, petting the velvety sides of Jean’s head. Jean blushed and wrung his hands.

“Don’t change the subject, Marco,” Boris said with a flat tone.

“I’m just curious! It looks amazing.” Marco smiled cheerfully at Boris. His thumb caught on the upper edge of Jean’s earlobe, both of which had turned beet red, and he retracted his touch with flushed cheeks.

“Thanks.” Jean gave him a shy smile. “There’s a little salon down the road from here. I went the morning before we moved in. It was just a businessman’s cut before. My parents still don’t know.” Jean ran his fingers through his hair, admiring it. It was an incredibly good look on him; there was a striking contrast between the ash blonde and the darker shade below, adding only to the edginess of the fauxhawk, which fit well with his angled features.

He continued. “I’m really sorry that I seem to complain about everything. I guess I still haven’t learned to quit whining. You know, I cried so much as a kid. My mom always told me to quit crying when I fell down or something.” He smiled cheerlessly, and held his cheek, as if recalling a painful incident. “And then my dad would come in and smack me around until I shut up. My mom would always go around to the kids at school and say: ‘Make sure you treat Jeanny Beau nicely— _stupidest nickname—_ he’s a bit of a problem child,’ and my dad would say: ‘Shut up, Denise, he can take care of himself.’”

He bit his lip, fighting back tears of anger.

“I _hate_ my father. And the sad part is, my mom always wanted the best for me, but I hate her too. I hate her for not sticking up for herself. I always wanted to look up to her, and instead, I see this pathetic, broken shell of a woman, and I can’t _stand_ it. And sometimes, she tries to do something special for me, just to make up for how incompetent she was as a parent, but it doesn’t work. I hate her.”

“Okay, I think we’ve heard enough,” Boris interrupted, rather insensitively. “Do you have something you’re proud of?”

“No, not really,” Jean confessed, cracking his fingers continuously. The group was silent.

“Well, you’re here, right?” Marco said finally, taking Jean’s hand. This time, Jean squeezed back, looking at him with a bit of confusion. “That’s something to be proud of. You’re out of that toxic atmosphere, and you’re here—with people who accept you. We’re gonna take care of you, Jean.”

Jean looked at Marco like he was the second coming of Christ, mouth agape and eyes shimmering with tears. He darted over to Marco’s chair and enveloped him in a tight hug, whispering “thank you.” Marco returned the embrace and stroked his hair, humming comforting little sounds of acknowledgement.

Jean returned to his seat, his face sufficiently reddened, and motioned to Annie, prompting her to speak. She sighed, leaned forward, and looked down, starting in a soft voice.

“I don’t really want to go into this, but I’ll just say I’ve been, um, _mistreated_.” Her eyes floated to the sky, as if she was figuring out how to word her explanation. “My mom died when I was born, so I never really had a female figure in my life. And my best friends growing up—you know, Reiner and Bertl—I mean, Reiner’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mom.” She made a nervous sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but ended up sounding more like a stuttered cough. “I’ve always just been one of the guys. And so, when a little girl like me is in that situation…things _happen._ ” She lowered her eyes.“I’m kind of ashamed that I couldn’t protect myself early enough.”

Armin nodded knowingly, picking up on her connotation, and feeling a pang of empathy.

“But I started training in martial arts when I was about ten. My dad told me to always be ready to defend myself, to always be wary on the street, always carry Mace and a taser. He even bought me one of those knives that fit inside of a comb.” She smiled at this thought, her eyes widening just so.

Boris let out a “whoosh” of air, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. This explained why Annie had such formidable combat skills.

“He’d say: ‘You have to treat the rest of the world as your enemy, Annie,’” she said, shaking her finger with a “fatherly” tone of voice. “My dad is the only person, besides R and B, who I can trust. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Well, let’s hope we can earn your trust here,” Boris said, offering her a smile.

“Don’t count on it. But who knows?” Annie shrugged nonchalantly and sat back in her chair, quirking an eyebrow at Samuel, who was the next person to speak.

Sam was insecure about his name because it literally _was_ Samuel L. Jackson, and apparently he was ridiculed constantly for it in high school, but he was proud of himself for getting out and making friends so early in the year. Tom was afraid of being used, but thought that he was a helpful and generous person when his friends needed a hand. Daz emotionally explained how he just wanted praise and recognition from his peers, and sometimes worked himself too hard in order to be the best. Apparently he had failed a test in high school because he had pulled an all-nighter studying for it and was too tired to remember anything, and the experience had left him traumatized. However, he admired his own drive to succeed.

“Okay, Armin, you’re last. You okay to talk?” Boris asked, the look in his eyes saying “please don’t make me endure any more tears.”

Armin looked over to Marco, who was giving him a supportive smile and a thumbs-up. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about last time. I’ll explain why that happened and try not to get worked up.” He held his hands together, breathing slowly and deeply, and began. “Five years ago, my town was hit by a tornado, and I watched my parents die.” He managed to provide the most succinct explanation possible.

Scattered murmurs traveled through the group and some palms came to rest upon gaping jaws. Armin continued. “I couldn’t save them. I was absolutely powerless, and it really—well, it really fucked with my brain. I’ve always been really insecure about myself. I wasn’t very popular in school, and…” If he gave all the reasons for his self-loathing, he knew he would start on an endless tangent, so he cut himself off. “I just—I never want to be powerless again. That’s all I can say without getting choked up.”

“That’s just fine,” Boris said, with a timbre that was less than supportive. “I think we got a little glimpse into your struggle the other day.”

Armin curled his lip at him indignantly, offended.

“And what are you proud of?” Marco asked, keeping his tone positive.

Armin looked down. “I’m happy that I’m alive. I made it for the sake of my friends, even though I didn’t want to sometimes.”

“That’s wonderful,” Marco murmured, and the smile that graced his lips made Armin’s heart burst. “I’m sure your friends are the most grateful people in the world.”

The group took a moment of silence to process the newfound information about their colleagues. “Well. That was certainly…s _omething._ ” Boris stood up, putting on his backpack. He looked at his watch. “You all can take a moment to collect yourselves, but I’ve got to head over to the quad to set up for Mu Pi’s booth. The involvement fair starts at noon. There will be food, praise the lord.” Before he set off, he hesitated. “It was all great getting to know you. I hope to see you at the fair. Feel free to shoot me a text if you ever need to talk.” (They had all exchanged cell numbers on the second day.) He then left the garden, and Hitch bolted after him, shouting “Wait up! Let me help with the booth!” This was returned with a groan that trailed off as the two walked away.

“Short and sweet,” Annie said, and exited her seat with little ceremony. “I’ll catch you dweebs on the flip side.” As he watched her leave, Armin got up and grabbed her arm.

“Hey, Annie…” he started, softly, confidentially.

“What do you want?” she asked, her timbre flat as ever.

Armin blushed and shuffled his feet. “I just wanted to say, thanks for sharing back there. I, um, know how you feel. I’ve had some stuff happen to me, and I wish I were as brave as you were. I didn’t care enough to want to protect myself.”

“Well, thanks, Armin,” Annie replied, giving him probably the biggest smile she could muster. “You’re a really good person, you know?” She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, so are you,” Armin said quickly, placing his hands on her biceps.

Annie looked down, a color of melancholy entering her gaze, and spoke awkwardly. “No, I’m not. But thanks, I guess, for thinking that I am. Bye.” She shrugged out of Armin’s grip and left without another word.

Armin watched her leave, pondering what exactly had happened to her to make her think that, when Jean and Marco came up behind him and pushed him forward into a quick stride. They made off for the quad, the two taller boys flanking Armin.

“Thanks for sharing, guys,” the blonde said, looking up at both of them. “If you ever want to talk, just come over to 330. I’m all ears.” The two smiled at him and nodded.

As they neared the quad, they could smell the barbeques grilling up unmeasurable amounts of burgers and hot dogs. Jean inhaled deeply and sighed. “Finally, we won’t have to deal with that sorry excuse for dining hall food,” he muttered.

“I’m just excited to see all of the clubs and organizations,” Marco beamed. “My high school was so bland—I think we had one community service club, and maybe…chess club? I don’t know. I would have killed to have joined a GSA.”

“I overheard Krista say that Ymir was the president of the GSA here,” Armin offered, looking up at him.

Marco snorted. “Go figure.”

“GSA?” Jean inquired, genuinely curious.

“Gay-straight alliance,” Marco answered, looking ahead.

“Oh.” Jean’s gaze went straight to the ground, and he kicked a small branch out of his way.

There was a moment of silence that was just a little too long. Marco spoke. “Although I never really liked that term, ‘gay- _straight_ alliance.’ I hope the organization here has the balls to actually call themselves a pride club or something, leave the heterosexuality out of it.” He looked at Jean, who was frowning again. “Hey, Jean. What’s it like to be straight? I always wondered.”

Jean didn’t return the eye contact. “That’s a weird question.”

Armin leaned into him and whispered: “You don’t have to answer that.”

“Have you ever been with a girl?” Marco pried, a teasing grin on his face.

“N-no, but—” 

Before Jean could finish, Armin put a hand on his forearm and used his other limb to elbow Marco in the abdomen. "That’s completely fine,” the blonde said through clenched teeth. “Isn’t it, Marco? It’s completely fine.”

Marco rubbed his aching side and pursed his lips. “Yes indeed.”

They reached the center of the quad; a cement walkway crisscrossed in the center, and tables were set up along the length of each perpendicular path. A massive crowd of students made their way along the paths, checking out various social organizations and academic clubs. Food was being served where the walkways met; three or four barbeques were set up, serving up the main entrée, next to a huge table decked out with various dishes of pasta salad, vegetables, and desserts. It appeared to be a potluck; the food all looked homemade, and it looked delicious.

As he parted from Marco and Jean, who surely wanted to find the Mu Pi table, Armin trotted over to the apparatus labeled with a small “Vegetarian” sign. He was glad to see Reiner behind it, flipping what appeared to be a black bean burger. As soon as he spotted the little blonde approaching, Reiner came around the barbeque and scooped him up in a crushing hug, and then returned to the grill.

“This is the only acceptable entrée here,” he explained, laying down a couple of meatless dogs. Armin waved to Bertholdt, who had just come up from behind Reiner to wrap his arms around him and kiss his cheek.

“I didn’t know you were vegetarian,” Armin said with a smile.

“They’re _vegans_ ,” came a voice from behind him—it was Ymir, who was walking up with Krista, Eren and Mikasa, all of whom already had plates stuffed with food. The tall brunette nudged Armin in the shoulder and grinned. “Well, at least Reiner is.”

Bertholdt stepped away from Reiner, crossed his arms and scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Bertl, we all know your favorite thing to eat is his ass!” Ymir guffawed, giving Bertholdt a resounding slap on the behind. A few onlookers turned to stare at them with disapproving looks.

“That’s inappropriate, Ymir,” Bertholdt hissed softly, and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Not in front of the children.”

Reiner smirked and turned the dogs on their side. “She’s not wrong,” he said under his breath, and kissed Bertholdt on the shoulder.

“I guess that does technically qualify as meat,” Eren offered with a nervous laugh.

Krista giggled and dragged Ymir away, pulling her close. “Any particular reason you’re vegan?” she asked Reiner.

“I’m glad you asked,” Reiner beamed, petting her hair affectionately. “Religious reasons, for one—we’re loosely Buddhist. I just feel like there must be some sort of positive karma in not eating animals, because we’re all made of the same stardust.” He smiled and looked at his boyfriend, who was resting his head on the blonde’s shoulder. “What about you, Bertl?”

“Well, I can’t eat dairy anyway, so it wasn’t that hard to adjust,” Bertholdt said with an easy smile. “I also try to avoid participating in systematic slaughter,” he added quietly and looked down, his eyebrow twitching. Those around him kept their ears open while he paused, waiting for more. He caught their eyes and continued, shaking off his awkwardness with a little chuckle. “People get so surprised when they hear that Reiner doesn’t consume copious amounts of animal product every day.”

“Who says I don’t?” Reiner growled in a rumbling voice, wrapping an arm around the brunette and rubbing against him.

“Oh my god, stop!” Bertholdt took a step away and wrapped his long arms around himself, turning red.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Reiner laughed, returning to the grill. Bertholdt rolled his eyes and groaned.

“How do you bulk up that much? Don’t you need, like, protein?” Eren asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“There are ways to get protein from plants, you know,” Reiner said, very educationally. He started counting said sources on his fingers. “Soy, legumes, quinoa, chia, the list goes on and on, sunflower, hemp, pistachios…”

“He’ll talk about this forever. Make him stop,” Ymir muttered, nudging Armin.

Although Armin was interested in Reiner’s encyclopedic knowledge of vegan food, he could ask him another time. He poked the enormous man in the arm, cutting him off. “Where’s the Sigma Chi booth?”

Reiner grinned and pointed down one of the walkways. “Oh, yeah! It’s over there. Look for the big green banner with the wings on it. I’ll be there in a few minutes, go ahead.”

Bertholdt gave Armin a look: “ _it’s incredible how short his span of attention is._ ” He gestured for the group to follow him, and they made their way over to a table lined with crudely-designed pamphlets and stickers. Behind the table, a group of students ate dinner and talked to each other, sitting on a mismatched patchwork of blankets. One of them, a gregarious young woman with pale red hair, jumped up at the sight of Bertholdt and Ymir.

“Hey, guys! Did you bring some new friends with you?” she asked, and held out her hand for each of the freshmen to shake. “I’m Petra Ral, event coordinator for Sigma Chi. Do you have any questions about what we do here?”

Eren was quick to engage her in conversation—they got on incredibly well, and soon three others were crowding around her behind the booth to meet Eren. Armin smiled and turned his head; he jumped when he was met abruptly with a face right up in his business. Behind thick glasses, a pair of wide brown eyes looked him up and down, and a melodious, high-pitched voice exclaimed: “Look at you! This get-up is adorable!”

“Thanks, mis—” Armin stopped himself. Was this individual male or female? “I’m sorry, by which pronouns should I refer to you?”

“I go by ‘they’.” Cool, neither. “Name’s Hanji Zoë. I’m Chi’s president.”

“Neat. I’m Armin,” He took their hand and shook it firmly, honored to be speaking to someone of such a position. “How do you identify, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m agender,” Hanji said, shrugging. “I don’t really fit in either category too well. Sometimes I express more feminine or more masculine, but I’m just Hanji, no matter what. How about yourself?”

Armin put a finger to his lip as he considered the question. He had never really given much thought to his gender expression. He didn’t mind wearing jewelry or leggings or tops that were considered “women’s clothing,” but he had never felt uncomfortable in a male body. His parents had always encouraged him to express his own style and creativity, and while he certainly didn’t consider himself lucky that they weren’t there to tell him how to dress during high school, he did have a great deal of freedom. “I, uh…well, I go by male pronouns, but I guess I’ve always considered myself genderqueer. Fuck the binary.”

Hanji punched the air with one hand and wrapped an arm around Armin’s shoulders with the other. “Yeah, that’s what I like to hear!” Then they retreated behind the table and took the hands of a meek-looking man with mousy blonde hair.

Armin heard them say in a hushed voice: “I think I just met my future little. I’m in love already. Come meet him.” Hanji led the man over to Armin, and they shook hands. He introduced himself as Moblit, and stayed mostly quiet while he watched Armin and Hanji speak. “So, what are you studying, Armin?”

-

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Levi muttered, when he and Erwin had reached the Chi booth.

“What now?” Erwin asked, scanning the area for new faces.

“It’s _him._ ” Levi moved behind Erwin, shielding himself, and pointed to the wild-haired brunette now excitedly speaking to Hanji.

Erwin looked down and smiled at him, knowing exactly who _he_ was. “Eren!” he exclaimed, getting the boy’s attention. Eren looked over with a confused expression and stepped towards the blonde, who was beckoning him forth.

“Mr. Smith, right?” Erwin nodded and smiled, and shook his hand. “How do you know my name?” Eren asked shyly.

“You’re big news, kid.” Levi answered, inching out from behind Erwin and looking up at Eren with furrowed brows.

“Hey, you’re the guy—” Eren’s voice trailed off, and he looked down, terribly embarrassed about their encounter the other day.

Levi waved a hand and looked away. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sorry about that,” said Eren quietly, running a hand nervously through his hair.

Erwin was eager to break through the awkwardness, and so he prompted Eren. “So, what? You thinkin’ about joining?”

“Yeah!” the brunette replied, reinvigorated. “I think it’s a perfect fit for me. I’ve always wanted to change the world, fight oppression and stuff.”

“Well, that’s what we’re about,” Erwin told him. “The demolition of the socioeconomic barriers which plague our society.”

“Don’t forget the destruction of patriarchal standards and ethno-racial stigmatization!” called Hanji, who had approached them, throwing an arm around Eren and grinning down at him.

“We’re looking towards a brighter future,” Levi added, rolling his eyes and smirking. He cared more about their mission than anyone, but sometimes he got sick of giving the pitch to these new students and making it seem like they were joining the fucking Boy Scouts. Their brochures had to make their jobs seem idealistic, work so rewarding it seemed easy, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Still, they had to make the kids buy into it if they wanted new members.

Eren’s smile spread across his face. “That sounds like a noble mission, sir.”

“No ‘sirs’ here if we’re gonna become brothers. Call me Erwin.” The blonde slapped Eren on the back and looked over his head at Nanaba, who was walking over with her plate. “Nana, have you met Eren Jaeger?” She regarded him with a pleasant smile and led him back to the others.

When they were more or less alone, Levi turned to his man. “Such informal language,” he murmured, edging as close as he could to Erwin without raising an eyebrow from any passerby. An idea crept into his mind; he beckoned Erwin to stoop to his level, and in his ear, whispered: “ _Mr. Smith._ ”

Erwin’s eyes narrowed. “ _You_ can call me Mr. Smith any time you like,” came the hushed reply, a baritone purr that resonated through his body.

Levi felt a blush creep across his cheeks. “I’ll keep that in mind for tonight.”

“ _God_ , I love Friday nights,” Erwin told him, smirking. He straightened up then, and the bedroom eyes were gone in a flash. His voice returned to its normal timbre after he cleared his throat. “I have to be cool with the young people, you know. Hip, if you will.” 

“You are _literally_ an old man. Gross.” Levi rolled his eyes, internally laughing to himself.

“Erwin, Levi!” Mike had called out to them, and was running over from the northwest square of lawn, where a group of Chis and Gammas had begun to congregate. He pushed his bangs out of his face, and raised the Frisbee in his hand. “Gamma wants to play ultimate, you in?”

“No.” Levi frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m not in proper sportswear. I’ll get mud all over my slacks.”

“You won’t even have to touch the ground,” Erwin told him, and suddenly Levi felt arms around him. Erwin effortlessly scooped him up and placed him on his broad shoulders. Levi tightened his thighs around his neck and held on gently to his hair, smirking. They were an impossible and unstoppable duo—Levi, a tiny, limber and flawlessly coordinated acrobat, and his genius hunk of a boyfriend, who had deltoids of steel and an even stronger mind. Between the two of them, they could probably pull off a decent circus act. Erwin took off at a sprint besides Mike, screaming “ _CHARGE_!” and Levi threw the first play from atop his shoulders.

-

Saturday, September 3rd.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, with the orientation over and nothing to do. Armin sat in his room, reading a spread from the latest National Geographic (it was about some newly-discovered therapod species, an article which continued to confirm the existence of non-avialan feathers, presented in a light of surprise because _apparently some people were still unaware of this fact_ ). As he flipped through the five or so pages which featured photos of the dig and CAT scans of the dinosaur’s skeleton, he heard his phone buzz several times in rapid succession.

“Okay, okay!” he said, as if to hush it. He threw his magazine to the side and reached over to grab it. Marco had sent him a string of messages on Facebook.

 

[Marco Bodt]

[5:47 PM]

_DUDE_

_I looked up that salon that Jean goes to_

_it’s called “Solace”_

_and_

_this ain’t your everyday get-a-trim neighborhood joint_

_this is the kind of place ladies go to get their nails did up before a bachelorette party or smth_

Armin shook his head and replied. He knew Marco was in his own room and he could easily have walked over to talk with him in person, but this was good enough communication (and honestly, Armin didn’t want to get out of bed).

 

[Armin Arlert]

_Okay?_

[Marco Bodt]

_HE IS SO GAY_

[Armin Arlert]

[5:48 PM]

_Marco, don’t push it. You need to let him take his time._

_What if he’s not even gay, just really metro? I think he might actually be asexual._

[Marco Bodt]

_that is a load of BS and you know it_

_besides, most ace people identify with the queer community_

_do you see that happening?_

[Armin Arlert]

[5:50 PM]

_Maybe he doesn’t even know he’s ace._

[Marco Bodt]

_maybe he doesn’t even know he wANTS MY DICK_

[Armin Arlert]

_*sigh* You are too thirsty for your own good._

[Marco Bodt]

[5:51 PM]

_but for realz doe._

_#thethirstisreal_

[Armin Arlert]

_#quench._

-

Marco laughed aloud at his phone, setting it down. He lay on his side and gazed dreamily at the back of Jean’s head. He was sitting at his desk, away from Marco, staring at his laptop.

“Hey, Marco?” Jean suddenly asked, turning around slightly.

“Yeah?”

“Um.” He looked down and swallowed. “When did you know you were gay?”

Marco’s eyes shot open, and he grabbed his phone and typed furiously while forming a verbal response. “Well, I…uh…sorry, important text…”

 

[Marco Bodt]

[5:53 PM]

_oh wait. fuck. he just mentioned the g word_

_I’ll let you know how this goes_

When he had sent the message, he looked up and finished his thought. “Well, when did you know you were straight?”

“I, um.” Jean met his eyes and gulped.

Marco smiled innocently. “There’s no answer, right?” he asked. Jean looked confused, but nodded. “You didn’t one day just decide your sexuality, and neither did I. I’ve always been gay. It’s not a choice, so if that’s what your parents tell you, don’t believe them.”

Jean’s lip curled up as he processed the words, and he spun back around to his laptop, unwrapping a Snickers and biting into it. “Forget it,” he muttered with a mouth full of nougat. Marco shook his head, silently baring his teeth and shaking his fist at the back of Jean’s gorgeous undercut, and looked back to his phone. Armin had replied to him a couple minutes prior.

[Armin Arlert]

_Okay buddy. Be cool. Don’t scare him off._

[Marco Bodt]

[5:55 PM]

_so far in there he can probably see BBC John Watson._

[Armin Arlert]

_Oh, my._

Marco looked up, uncomfortable with Jean’s taciturnity, and uttered very frankly: “Jean, you don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

“What makes you say that, asshole?” Jean replied quickly, whipping around to glower at him. His entire body was turned towards Marco now; he was prepared to fully engage in conversation.

“You’re not exactly a social butterfly,” Marco told him gently. He grinned and placed his index fingers in the dips of his dimples. “C’mon, bud. Turn that frown upside down!”

Jean hiccupped on his bite of Snickers and pounded his chest with a fist, sputtering nervously: “Well, what about you? How’s _your_ social life?”

“My social life? Well, I suppose I have a lot of _friends_ …just not many who know my name.” Marco wore a complacent smirk and he leaned back onto his pillows, crossing his hands behind his head.

Jean took a moment to understand the meaning of Marco’s words, and his voice grew quiet as he stared intensely at his candy bar. “Doesn’t it ever make you feel bad?”

Marco threw him a questioning glance.

“ _Casual sex_ ,” Jean whispered, as if it were a dirty word. “Doesn’t it make you feel _empty_ inside?" Either Jean was just very conservative, or he actually was genuinely asexual. Marco considered the second option, and frowned, as this weighed even more heavily against his favor.

He stood and walked over to Jean’s swivel chair, leaning down to look him directly in the face, the corners of his almond eyes lifted in a smile. “Au contraire—it makes me feel _whole_.”

Jean blushed furiously, and made a vague sound of disgust.

“So. You’ve never, _ever_ had sex?” Marco asked, placing a hand on Jean’s desk and leaning on it.

“No…” Jean’s eyes traveled from Marco’s hand, up his arm, and then to his face. Marco followed his gaze until it met his own, and smiled.

“Don’t you want to try it some time? College is all about experimentation, and not just in the science lab.” His eyebrows danced suggestively.

“Experimentation with…” Jean started nervously, and then stopped, and threw an accusatory glare at Marco. “I think you’re being a bit too forward.”

This time, it was Marco who felt a hot flush cover his face, and he watched as Jean’s scowl morphed into a grin when he realized he finally had the upper hand. _Fine. If it’s a game we’re playing, then a game it will be._

“You think I—” Marco gestured to himself and laughed—“and _you_ ”—another, longer laugh—“you thought that’s what was happening?” He leaned over Jean, his expression growing dark and vaguely intimidating. “If I actually wanted you, I’d be too smooth for you to even notice. Dream on, honey.” He ruffled Jean’s hair and sashayed back to his bed, flopping down and checking his phone once more. In his peripheral vision he saw Jean growl with frustration and turn back around. _Yes, two can play at this._

 

[Marco Bodt]

[6:08 PM]

_the ice grows warmer. the water is near._

-

Armin heard his phone buzz twice at nearly the same time; the first message was a final update from Marco. He smiled to himself—it sounded like the conversation had gone well. His smile grew just a little wider when he opened the second message, which was from Jean. He left Marco’s conversation at a halt and replied to Jean’s question.

 

[Jean Kirschstein]

[6:08 PM]

_ur pretty good friends with marco, right?_

[Armin Arlert]

_I guess so. Why?_

The smile dropped clean off of Armin’s face when he read Jean’s next message.

 

[Jean Kirschstein]

_can u please tell him to stop flirting w/ me. it makes me feel really weird._

[Armin Arlert]

_No problem. I’ll talk to him about it._

[Armin Arlert]

[6:10 PM]

_Hey. Don Juan. Whatever you’re doing, cut it out._

Marco sneered at the message he received from Armin. Still, he sat up and looked at Jean, ready to form an apology if it was required of him. But before he could speak, Jean was standing up and shoving his keys and phone into his pocket, and heading towards the door.

“I’m gonna go hang out with Sasha and Connie. Later.” He threw Marco one irate glance and was immediately out the door. After Marco heard the click of the lock, he shot Armin a message (“ _he just left. get your ass in here_ ”), and then fell back onto his bed with a loud groan. About twenty seconds later he heard the bathroom door open, and Armin stood against the door frame with an annoyed expression and arms tightly crossed.

“You need to stop,” he ordered sternly. Marco put on his best puppy-dog eyes and pouted. Armin sighed, giving in (those freckles were just too damn endearing). He walked over and sat on the edge of Marco’s bed, giving him a “you want to talk?” look. Marco smothered himself with a pillow.

“Why is he so _resistant_?” Marco wailed, his voice muffled. Armin set a hand on his knee.

“Why are you so adamant?” the blonde echoed. Marco paused, removing the pillow from his face.

“Because…” Marco sat up and looked down, thoroughly baffled. He didn’t know the answer himself, really. He wasn’t the kind of guy who developed crushes—crushes that meant anything romantic, anyway. If he had an interest in a guy, and said guy reciprocated that interest, then they hooked up and had a good fuck and their paths diverged. But…Jean. Jean was something else. Jean was the kind of guy Marco wanted to wake up next to and kiss good morning and make waffles for. It was a feeling completely foreign to him. “I think I like him,” he answered softly, running a hand through his bangs.

“Well, that much is clear…” Armin said hesitantly, confused.

“No, I mean.” Marco shook his fists, trying to articulate himself. “This is different. I don’t really _like_ people. Like, ever. But I think Jean’s someone I could actually date, or whatever.” He looked up at Armin, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Armin scooted closer, and Marco made space for him to lie beside him.

“What’s different about Jean?” Armin asked. It was in no way meant to be insulting to Jean; rather, a prompt for Marco to evaluate what really _was_ so special about this underachieving metrosexual punk.

Marco cleared his throat and just let the words come to him. “I met Jean the morning we moved in here. I don’t know what it was, but something about him just _captivated_ me. Maybe it was his appearance. He’s fine as all hell, and he totally owns his style.” Armin grunted in consensus, and Marco smiled. “Or maybe it’s the way he carries himself. He kinda seems like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and I like that. He’s so rough around the edges.” He paused. Armin sensed that he was hesitant about continuing.

“So what _really_ makes him different?” Armin asked, turning on his side to face Marco.

Marco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “There’s something about him that transcends looks or personality. I looked into his eyes, that first time we met, and it was like…” He paused, laughing to himself. It was an impossibly silly notion. “Like we had known each other before. Like we’d been lovers in a past life or something. You feel me?”

Armin chuckled. “I feel you. That’s what I felt when I met Eren.” He sighed dreamily, overcome with nostalgia.

“Huh.” Marco covered his face with his hands and whined. “I know it hasn’t been very long, but…this just feels _really_ important to me, Armin.” He met Armin’s gaze, which was filled with concern, and suddenly the blonde shifted to wrap himself around Marco’s side. They lay in silence for a minute or two. Marco smiled at him, and interlaced his fingers with the small hand that had come to lay flat against his chest. He rubbed circles on Armin’s pale skin and laughed gently, inhaling the subtle floral scent of Armin’s hair. “I could use a cuddle right now. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Armin adjusted his head so that his jaw fit into the crook of Marco’s shoulder, watching the languid movement of Marco’s thumb. “You know, I think it is important. Do you believe in fate and all that?”

“I suppose I do. But what if this isn’t our fate, and Jean’s path just doesn’t meet mine?” Marco pouted, overdramatically, but there was real doubt in his eyes.

“I guess you’ll just have to watch how everything unfolds,” Armin murmured, squeezing Marco’s hand. Soon, Armin fell asleep on his chest. Marco looked down at him affectionately, and wrapped his arm around the slim shoulders. He admitted to himself that he was definitely attracted to the little blonde, in a platonic sense. He knew he had an ally in Armin, and he had a feeling that he was going to be an asset to him one day, so he wanted to keep him close. They would protect each other in an unkind world.

Marco’s thoughts trailed back to his roommate, and he stared at the plain white ceiling. The sounds in the room went from background noise to individual melodies, each counterpoint rising in volume, as he isolated his senses. He listened to the ceiling fan, Armin’s soft breaths on his skin, the pounding in his head. He had never pegged himself for the desperate type. But he could only describe his current feeling as desperation. He wanted to make him feel the same way he made Marco feel, that strange warm fluttering feeling that started somewhere in his stomach and traveled up across his arms and into his throat. He knew what emotional attraction was supposed to feel like, but he wasn’t used to it, and it scared the shit out of him.

He didn’t want to give Jean the impression that he was claiming his body for his own whims, or that he only thought he was physically attractive. But in his brilliantly Marco-esque way, he had probably put that precise idea on a billboard and shoved it in Jean’s face. No wonder Jean was uncomfortable.

“ _Shit,_ ” he hissed, and opened the Facebook messenger app on his phone to send Jean an apology.

 

[Marco Bodt]

[6:37 PM]

_so so so SO sorry._

Marco laid his phone down, wondering whether or not he should have elaborated more fully, and closed his eyes. In his mind he replayed Jean’s speech from the day before, in the garden. “ _I was never the man that my dad wanted me to be._ ”

Maybe Jean already did get those butterflies—and maybe he was just scared to recognize them for what they really were. Marco couldn’t recall a time when he was afraid to think about his own sexuality. He had always known exactly who he was, and he didn’t regret coming out to his parents, because at least his teenage years hadn’t been built around a lie. Marco could tell that Jean cared so deeply about what others saw him as, even though he would be the first to tell anyone that he didn’t care. And he still cared about the love of his parents, unlike Marco; he still wanted to preserve himself in their eyes.

Marco didn’t know why he knew all these things, but he had the impossible feeling that Jean had told him everything long ago, that these were just facts that he was remembering.

 _So is he as scared as I am to feel those feelings?_ Marco asked himself, as he waited for a reply that never came, and provided an instantaneous answer: _a million times more._ He clutched at his chest, which was emanating a dull pain that Marco recognized as heartache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> \- "Tonchiki" means something along the lines of "numbskull" or "dimwit".
> 
> \- The conversation in French goes as follows...  
> "Do you speak French?"  
> "A little, not very well (not much)."
> 
> \- and the conversation in Italian is...  
> "You speak Italian?"  
> "Yes! I bet I speak it better than you do."  
> "Fuck you!"  
> "Fighting words! Admit it--you only know how to say bad words."
> 
> (I don't speak either French or Italian, but I do know a bit of Latin, and as a classical singer I have to have a cursory knowledge of both the linguistic structure and pronunciation of various languages. So expect a lot of foreign language in this fic. ALSO--Vadena is a city in the north of Italy, in a region which is mostly populated by German speakers, which is why Marco has a Germanic family name. At least, I think Bodt is Germanic. I think it mostly originates from the Netherlands. ALSO okay I read somewhere that Isayama said that Marco comes from a "good family"...so I'm taking some creative license in this fic and interpreting that as his extended family only.)
> 
> I really like the idea of Reiner being an obsessive health food nut. It's a cherished headcanon of mine. Also, I won't spoil much, but we catch a very brief glimpse (in Bertholdt's dialogue) of a plot point that will become very prominent later on. Try and spot it, and then cry your heart out because my OTP is depressing as fuck. 
> 
> Next time: Jean and Marco. That is all.


	6. Take Me To Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve always been good at keeping secrets, you know. I could have chosen to hide who I was. If I had, I might still have a family and a home…but I might have lost myself in the process.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was originally going to only be half of this chapter, but as it's 7000+ words already and I need to move onto other things in life (a.k.a. finals) so I wanted to get it up. Suggested listening: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier. (I had it on replay while writing this chapter. Also, the music video reduced me to tears. I recommend.)
> 
> Also, this isn't really a trigger warning, but a great deal of this chapter is literally just Bible scripture, so if you don't want to read it, I won't be offended.

Jean threw open the door to the Rose Hall basement, having been let into the building by some upperclassman who couldn’t have cared less. He wore a scowl as he stalked over to the couch and flopped onto it face-down. Sasha and Connie, who had been expecting him after receiving a text indicating that he needed to escape his room, were sitting at a table picking curly fries out of a to-go box from the dining hall. Both gave him inquisitive glances, stopping mid-bite.

“Yo.” Connie’s voice was hesitant. “What’s up?”

Jean groaned into the couch and then turned onto his side, glaring at the two.

“Marco is an _asshole_ ,” he said breathily.

“What the hell?” Sasha mumbled around a fry. She swallowed and shrugged, shaking her head in confusion. “Marco’s the nicest fucking guy at this school. What did he do?”

“He won’t stop coming onto me,” Jean told her in a dull, matter-of-fact tone.

Connie let out a loud laugh and slapped the table. “Okay?” he said to Jean. Jean cocked an eyebrow, his mouth falling open as if to ask a question. “I mean, as guys go, he’s not bad on the eyes. I wouldn’t be offended if I were you—I’d be flattered.”

“I’m not _offended_ ,” Jean hissed, and looked down. “I just want him to stop sexualizing me, or whatever. He always…you know when someone is undressing you with their eyes?” They nodded slowly. “That’s it.”

“C’mon, why not let him feed your ego?” Connie laughed.

“Because I’m _straight_ , and he should respect that fact.”

“And he knows you’re straight,” Sasha asked flatly, clarifying.

Jean rolled his eyes. “I’ve only told him about thirty thousand times.”

“Yeah, we _know_ ,” Sasha drawled, with a glance towards Connie.

“Don’t pull that sass with me,” Jean warned, pointing a sharp finger at Sasha. The brunette only snorted at him, mocking his tone of voice, and Connie joined her in a fit of raucous laughter.

Still coming down from the laugh, Sasha shrugged. “Well, if Marco knows you’re not into guys, then I’m sure he’s just kidding, man,” she pointed out, taking a sip from her bottle of root beer.

Jean couldn’t think of an answer to that, so he just continued staring at the floor. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sasha and Connie conversing using a system of gestures they had invented just for themselves. They were the oddest couple of kids Jean had ever met, but together they made the perfect pair. He raised his head when they both locked their eyes on him.

“Jean.” Connie leaned forward in his chair, facing him. “Dude. Bro. Buddy. Sit your ass up.” Jean did so, and Connie took a deep breath. “Listen. I know we haven’t really known each other for very long, and I don’t mean to pry into your personal business. But we’re friends, right?”

“Sure,” Jean replied, shrugging.

“So, like, we can be honest with each other, right?” Connie asked. Jean didn’t think he’d ever seen him so serious. Connie looked at his hands, fiddling with them. “Sasha and I can both tell that something is _up._ Basically, you just gotta tell us, man…” He paused, searching for words.

Sasha provided them. “You’re not _really_ straight, are you?” Connie made a face at her as if he didn’t mean to be so blunt, and she simply shrugged.

Mother _fucker._ Jean had come to them to get away from this “what are you” bullshit. He was so sick of people asking this question, like it mattered. He gave them both a piercing glare and pursed his lips, refusing to answer, and in his silence his mind ran wild.

Yes, Marco was _indeed_ the nicest fucking guy at school. Marco didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He was just genuinely curious. Who wouldn’t be?

Jean tried his damnedest to place himself in Marco’s shoes. He could imagine finding out that his roommate was conveniently and _incredibly_ hot, with his bleached hair and long limbs, and itching to know if he might someday be able to hit that. _I guess I see where he’s coming from._ It made him still more pissed off that he couldn’t reconcile that understanding with his own insecurity.

All of these thoughts distracted him from answering the actual question in his mind.

_I’m not really straight, am I?_

Don’t do it.

_Am I?_

Don’t fucking answer that, Kirschstein.

_Nope._

God _DAMN IT_. The voice inside his head was a smug one.

_And I don’t think I ever have been._

In his mind, with only himself to hear the truth, he was able to provide this answer so easily, mentally forming the ideas into cohesive language. These phrases— _I am not heterosexual, I find men attractive, I will never fit into the mold that’s expected of me—_ they made sense, they were rational. They weren’t jumbled up into a cacophonous disarray of spelling mistakes of shame and grammatical errors of doubt and punctuation fuckups of fear, like they would be if he tried to form the words with his mouth. And he knew that he couldn’t say these words out loud, because he had tried many times and failed miserably. So he didn’t.

“I respectfully decline to answer that,” he said finally to his friends, crossing his arms.

“ _Jean_ ,” Sasha started, and threw a look in Connie’s direction. “Talk to us, buddy.”

Jean was silent. He folded in on himself and sank as far into the corner of the couch as he could, the corners of his mouth turned grotesquely downward. The two others sighed at each other. Then Jean opened his mouth to protest, and was cut off by Connie.

“Dude, you know you can talk to us about this. We’re all adults, we can be mature and respectful. We won’t judge.” He looked to Sasha as if to confirm this fact; she nodded vigorously. “If there’s anything you’re hiding, you don’t have to be scared.”

“I am not _scared!_ ” Jean cried, bringing his legs up to his chest. He looked into his lap. “I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“We’re not complete strangers to this topic, you know,” Connie offered, shrugging with one shoulder. “We might be able to help you talk it out.”

“What would you know?” Jean muttered.

“Well for starters, I’m bi, jackass!” Sasha exclaimed, and threw a fry at Jean’s head.

The fry hit him in the eye and bounced into his lap. Overcome by surprise, he stared at it for a second before picking it up and eating it. He looked back at Sasha with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Well, biromantic anyway,” she answered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jean asked, trying to sound as inoffensive as possible.

“We’re both asexual,” Connie provided with a shy smile. “Like, we don’t do the whole sex thing.”

“Wait.” Jean gesticulated to the two of them, pointer fingers moving back and forth. “You, as in _you_ and _you_ …”

“No!” they objected in unison, drawing away from each other and chuckling awkwardly. “No, we’re not…” Their voices fell and they each rubbed the back of their heads, exchanging a look.

Jean shrugged it off and fell back into the couch. “Jesus, there are so many labels nowadays. I don’t know how people keep track.”

“Do you have any idea what you fall under?” Sasha asked.

He could never come to pronounce the words _gay_ or _homosexual_ as descriptions of himself. In the dark stillness of his room, the words only came out as muffled whimpers and sobs into his pillow. Even in the safety of his own mind, the best he could do was to rationalize himself as “not straight.” He wasn’t sure he was even gay, anyway. He didn’t think it was that simple.

He shook his head lamely. “No clue.” _But, to me, Marco is…_ He paused, unsure of how to finish that thought. _Intriguing? Baffling? Infuriatingly good-looking?_ He weighed each of these options in his mind, and his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket a split second later, startling him. He pulled out his phone to check it, and saw that he had a new message on Facebook.

 

[Marco Bodt]

[6:37 PM]

so so so SO sorry.

 

He stared at the message before muttering: “…damn it.”

“What was that?” Sasha leaned forward.

“Nothing.”

He thought he could keep his cool and not get embarrassed around Connie and Sasha. They were really his only friends here, at least so far. They hung out and got takeout and played video games, sometimes smoked weed when Jean could get in touch with his guy in South Trost.  He didn’t feel so vulnerable around them; he was just someone to talk to, not a point of interest.

“Daydreaming?” Connie teased.

“Shut up.”

When he was with Marco, he could feel those wide ochre eyes boring into him. He wasn’t just looking because he thought Jean was nice to look at—he was trying to figure Jean out, like a shrink or something. And Jean, being a very private person, absolutely hated that.

 “You _so_ like him!” Sasha exclaimed, and moved to sit next to him on the couch, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I do not. Shut up.” Jean wriggled out of her grasp with a sneer.

Why couldn’t people just mind their own goddamn business?

He knew what his father would advise. He ought to sock Marco in the jaw the next time he looked at him funny. Show him to keep his lecherous ways to himself. Protect his honor and his virility.

Connie sat on the other side of him, and peered at his phone; it was currently situated at Marco’s Facebook profile. “You’re totally stalking him. Sash, he’s totally stalking him.”

“Shut _up!_ ”

He noticed that his free fist was clenched, as if readying itself to throw a punch, and felt anger bubbling from deep within him. He was angry at Marco because he was angry at himself. Angry at himself for noticing those hazel eyes drilling into his psyche and unlocking those parts of Jean that he never wanted to acknowledge. Thinking that those invasive, meddling eyes were absolutely gorgeous, especially when he smiled and his grin reached his eyes and the freckles around them were buried in the little wrinkles—

 _Stop._ Red light. Nip it in the fucking bud.

“Show us the cutest picture you find,” Sasha cooed. Jean rolled his eyes and clicked the “pictures” icon, scrolling over countless photos of Marco taken over his year in Europe.

“Look at those freckles!” Connie pointed to a picture of him standing over some harbor in the Mediterranean, the sun washed warmly over his face, casting every dark dot into relief. “What a fucking cutie pie!”

Jean turned his screen to black and shoved his phone into his pocket, throwing both of them a serious look. “Stop.”

They did; the smiles on their faces fell.

“What are you gonna do?” Connie asked quietly.

Jean stood up decisively. “I think Marco and I just need to have a good, long talk.” He began to make his way out of the basement, and turned to them as he opened the door. “You don’t say a word of this conversation to a single _soul_.”

“Roger that,” Sasha replied with a salute.

“Hey, Jean,” Connie hopped from his seat and called to Jean before he shut the door. “Good luck, buddy.” Jean smiled at him and clapped his hand in a friendly gesture, before walking up the stairs into the warm evening air, en route to his dorm.

-

It was about seven o’clock when Marco regained consciousness; the sun had set and dark orange hues spilled across the room. His arms were wrapped around Armin; somewhere in the midst of their nap, the blonde had apparently curled up with his back to Marco. Marco pressed tighter to the small body, and brushed the hair from his gentle face.

“Hey, sweetie,” he whispered into his ear. Armin stirred suddenly, nearly elbowing Marco in the face with a confused “huh?” Marco dodged the blow and laughed.

Rubbing his eyes, Armin sat up. “Sorry. Didn’t think I’d nod off.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re cute when you sleep,” Marco told him, and leaned in to press a peck to Armin’s nose. Armin giggled, and gave Marco’s shoulder a shove. In the silence of the room, he heard his stomach growl.

“Shit, I’m hungry.” Armin stood up, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Wanna walk over to the dining hall?”

Marco grabbed his phone, shaking his head. “Nah. Let’s order a pizza.”

“Sure,” Armin shrugged as Marco called the nearest Domino’s. It occurred to him that Eren might be back from his errands with Mikasa, and he opened his door to find the two of them talking over a couple of milkshakes. “We’re ordering pizza. Want some?” Eren’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

-

The suite, sans Jean, had all gathered in their little common room, as well as Mikasa’s roommate Hannah and her boyfriend Franz. They were sitting around the coffee table and laughing over their pizza when Jean returned. He stopped, surprised to see the crowd, and made awkward eye contact with Marco.

Eren rolled his eyes. “Party’s over, guys. _Jean_ ’s here.”

Armin punched him in the shoulder and put a piece of pizza onto a paper plate, handing it to Jean with a smile. “We thought you might want to join us.”

Jean took the plate with a grateful nod. “Thanks. I’d love to, but…” He looked at Marco. “Can I talk to you?”

With an apprehensive glance at Armin, Marco stood and opened the door for Jean. “Sure thing. See you guys later.” He waved at the group and retreated into their bedroom.

Once they were inside, Jean took a bite of pizza and sat on his bed. “So.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for earlier. I was a dick.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Marco said, sitting next to him; then, taking note of his boundaries, asked: “Is this okay?”

Jean nodded and smiled at him, and took another bite. “The thing is…” he started with a full mouth.

Marco shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged, facing Jean. “Yeah?” He leaned in, curious. It wasn’t like Jean to initiate conversation; he was usually so quiet and introverted.

Swallowing, Jean grimaced. “You need to stop… _this,_ ” he said, motioning between them. Marco looked inquisitive, and just a little hurt. Jean looked Marco straight in the eye and set his plate down. He might as well tell him the truth; it would persuade him better than any excuse. “Marco, you are way too attractive to tease me as much as you do, when you _know_ that nothing can come of it.” This was an important conversation, and might determine the entire path of their friendship.

Marco didn’t seem to pick up on the gravity of the situation; he was stunned for a second, and then he fell back with a loud laugh. Jean frowned at him, devoid of amusement. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Marco apologized with a tone of incredulity. “I thought you weren’t attracted to those of the _male persuasion_.”

Jean took a deep breath and looked down. “I’m… _not…_ ” He shook his head. He was fed up with his own lies, but he simply wasn’t ready to give them up. He decided to compromise, picking his words carefully. “It would be more accurate to say that I _can’t_ be attracted to those of the male persuasion.”

That was all Jean needed to say to make his desires known, and all Marco needed to hear. “Jean,” Marco tugged at Jean’s hand until the other was also facing him. He held Jean’s hands in his own. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Jean’s voice was soft, his vulnerability becoming more noticeable every second.

Marco studied Jean’s face, an empathetic smile spreading across his strong jaw. He scooted closer to Jean and cupped his face with one hand; Jean leaned into the touch, to Marco’s surprise, and his eyelids fluttered closed. “It’s your choice, and I respect that.” Marco sighed, his gaze falling. His voice was brimming with melancholy. “In this world, we have to choose our blessings before we can count them. Most things come at a price.”

Jean squeezed his eyes and then opened them, meeting Marco’s, which were reading him with an incredible softness. “I wish…” He felt a lump form in his throat. “I _wish_ I could choose to not hide. It’s just that my dad would _kill me_ …” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Marco’s thumb traced the top of his cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I just can’t,” he whispered.

“C’mere,” Marco said gently, and beckoned him into an embrace. Jean turned around and sat back on Marco’s broad chest, feeling arms wrap around his thin frame. “I’ve always been good at keeping secrets, you know.” Marco murmured into his hair. “I could have chosen to hide who I was. If I had, I might still have a family and a home…but I might have lost myself in the process.”

That tender voice rumbled into Jean’s skin, and though his veins, and into his heart; it shattered the dam that had been holding in the flood of Jean’s emotions, and he broke down crying. “I think I already have,” he choked.

“No, no, no,” Marco cooed, his lips just making contact with Jean’s scalp. “You haven’t.” His voice was now hovering just above Jean’s ear. “Who are you, Jean? What’s your secret?”

Jean might open up to Marco in time, but for now, he shook his head fervently and refused to indulge him. He had never trusted _anyone_ with this information before. Come to think of it, he had never trusted anyone with any of his feelings, at least not since his mother told him he was too old to have crying fits.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” Marco asked, lips tickling the back of Jean’s head.

“Cuddle with guys?” Jean tried to lighten the mood, and failed, because another sob caused his body to quake.

Marco let out a perfunctory chuckle. “Cuddle with _anyone,_ ” he corrected, and breathed in the scent of Jean’s expensive salon-bought hair gel, running his fingers soothingly against the undercut. “You don’t like to let yourself be held.”

“Guess not,” Jean breathed, and laid his hands on Marco’s, which were resting on his stomach. “It…it feels good, though.” _This feels natural._

“Yeah?” Jean let out an involuntary gasp when he felt Marco’s hot breath on his earlobe once more. _Big strong arms holding me—feels good._ He tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat, a subconscious invitation.

“Feels safe,” Jean added, leaning back against Marco’s shoulder, closing every distance between their bodies. _Warm kisses on my neck. Claim me._

No. This was wrong. _Jean, you’re not supposed to—you had this conversation for a reason—you were supposed to end this._ When he felt Marco’s mouth brush against the side of his throat, he jerked forward and twisted around to face him.

“Sorry,” the brunette whispered. “Too far?”

“We can’t,” Jean told him, with a voice that tried to be firm but came out shakier than ever. He didn’t trust either of them to play it safe, if what they had was to become something real, and he refused to risk his father finding out. “We can’t, and it’s eating me up inside but we _can’t_ because I won’t be able to stop if I—” He was stopped by a finger on his lips.

“Sit back down and shut up, babe.” Marco extended his arms in a request to hold Jean once more. “I promise I won’t do anything.”

Jean turned to his side and curled up against Marco, who laid his head on the top of Jean’s. “Thank you,” he said into Marco’s chest, and listened to his heartbeat. It was soothing. It was the heartbeat of a man who had battled his sins and walked away with all his parts intact—someone whom Jean longed to be. Each steady thump sent that divine name throbbing heavily through Jean’s brain.

_Marco. Marco. Marco._

Jean ignored the sound of his own heart, which was drumming away at a stubborn forte. Its pulse had never been quite as even. Always too slow, or too fast. Or sometimes Jean felt it skip a beat, and hoped desperately for it to skip another, and another, and another…

“So we’re cool, right?” Marco suddenly asked. His hand stopped in its petting motion.

Jean clutched weakly at the fabric of Marco’s shirt, pressing his cheek to the man’s sternum. He felt the dampness of his own tears on the cloth. “Yeah,” he whispered. Marco grunted, pleased—Jean felt the sound resonate through his chest cavity—and returned to stroking the base of Jean’s skull.

-

As Jean lay in bed that night, all he could think about was Marco’s arms, how they fit perfectly around his body, as if made to hold him. Without their touch, Jean felt incomplete.

In his dreams he imagined those arms ending in large, beautiful hands which moved tantalizingly down his chest to his abdomen. Those nimble fingers reaching below the waistline of his boxers, wrapping around Jean. That hot breath on his neck, those soft lips on his ear, that skillful tongue dipping—

He woke in a sweat—and with a _rock-hard_ erection.

Hurrying to the bathroom, he tore down his pants and began to relieve himself, cursing his weakness throughout the act and crying out for salvation upon his finish. Tomorrow was Sunday. Church day. Holy water soul-cleansing, say-some-bullshit-and-be-freed, purification day. The word of the Lord would wash away his sin—or at least that’s what he had been taught.

Returning to his room, Jean looked at the dark, lean body stretched out and half-covered by blankets. Marco could be Jean’s saving grace—a veritable angel. Or he could be Jean’s damnation. He could very well be the downfall of everything Jean Kirschstein had worked so hard to protect.

In Jean’s life, Marco was a blessing that he would have to choose before he could count.

-

Sunday, September 4th.

Marco woke up to an obnoxious buzzing noise; rolling over with a grunt and bleary eyes, he saw Jean throw his sheets to the side and slide out of bed. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. It was seven o’clock. Why on earth would Jean, of all people, be up bright and early on a Sunday? Marco turned back over and cocooned himself once more with his blankets, trying to fall back asleep, until he felt a hand nudge his hip. He turned to look up at Jean, who was standing over him with mussed hair and a half-buttoned shirt. _Damn_ , it was a good look.

The sight brought a sleepy smile to Marco’s face. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, testing out his voice and running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“I, um.” The corner of Jean’s mouth twitched shyly and he sat on the edge of Marco’s bed. “You said you were Catholic, right?”

 _Oh. Right._ Marco nodded at him.

“I was, uh, wondering.” Jean’s fingers ran through his hair as he looked away from Marco and then back to him. “There’s this church that my family and I go to every Sunday. I didn’t think I’d go now that I’m not living with them, but maybe you might be interested.”

“Jean.” Marco sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’d love to.”

A bright smile crossed Jean’s features. It was one of the only genuine smiles Marco had gotten to witness since they had met. “Awesome,” he murmured. “It starts at nine, so we’ll leave at around eight-thirty.” He stood and went into the bathroom, buttoning the rest of his shirt.

Marco slowly removed the covers from his body and began fingering through his closet to find an appropriate dress shirt. His heart was pounding from nervousness and excitement. Inviting someone to your church, your place of worship, the ground which you considered holy and sacred and intimate with your innermost soul—that was no simple act. It wasn’t like asking someone out for coffee. It was an act of trust. Marco was Jean’s friend now, and he vowed to never betray that trust.

Jean returned from the bathroom with neatly-groomed hair, now combed to the sides and concealing a good part of his undercut, and began fixing his tie. Marco gazed at him, memorizing the slender curve of his back when he put on his vest. He caught himself when Jean looked over at him, and looked away; Jean’s glance lingered just a moment longer than he had probably intended.

_Take me to church, Jean._

-

The church, named Our Lady of Consolation, was expansive and bright, with lovely stained-glass windows that let in streams of colored light. Jean insisted that the two sit in the back, in order to avoid his parents, and Marco didn’t protest. Marco wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet the individuals who had shaped Jean into the man he was—he might say something _just_ off-kilter enough to earn their scorn forever.

The priest entered with the deacon and the altar servers, who carried the cross and various candles; a young cantor sang a chant.

The priest, an extraordinarily tall and gaunt man with a high forehead and deep-set eyes, began: “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.” The congregation crossed themselves.

The priest continued in a deep and grave voice. “The grace and peace of God, our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ, be with you.”

“And also with you,” Jean said with the congregation, and then turned to Marco and said: “Nicholas Wall. Just call him Father Nick.” Then he leaned in closer to Marco’s ear. “He’s quite a character. I think he’s got a whole shopping list of sins for which to atone.” Marco smiled and quirked an eyebrow at Jean.

Then came the ritual of aspersion; Nick came around and sprinkled them with holy water. “Dear friends, this water reminds us of our baptism. God, our Father, your gift of water brings life to the earth; it washes away our sins and brings us eternal life. We ask you now to bless this water, and to give us your protection on this day which you have made your own. Renew the living spring of your life within us and protect us in spirit and body, that we may be free from sin and come into your presence to receive your gift of salvation. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”

When he came around to Marco and Jean, he raised his eyebrows at Jean, as if surprised to see him, and then quickly returned to his place at the altar. “May almighty God cleanse us of our sins, and through the Eucharist we celebrate, make us worthy to sit at his table in his heavenly kingdom.”

“Amen.”

Nick then asked the congregation to call to mind their sins. Marco could see Jean visibly take a deep breath before starting the recitation: “I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord, our God.”

Jean’s eyes looked straight ahead, and Marco hesitantly reached over to interlock their pinky fingers. “May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life,” Nick’s voice rang across the chapel.

“Amen.” Jean glanced over at Marco with a small smile as the cantor sung the Kyrie and the Gloria, after which the congregation bowed their heads in silent prayer.

“Brothers and sisters,” Nick began. “The summer has just ended, and many of us are returning to the daily grind, so to speak—school, work, or perhaps a mixture of the two. We sometimes lose our work ethic during our months off, sometimes forget how to discipline ourselves into a routine schedule. The summer is a time for freedom and for exploration of those activities which we do not have time for during the rest of the year. Vacations to new places, visitation of family members, a breath of fresh air. As we return to our usual work, let us recall those laws which God has given us to lead us on the path to righteousness. Our first reading this morning will be from Galatians 5, in which Paul, who knew the pain of his own sins and transgressions, urges the people to remember their responsibilities.

“‘You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.

“‘So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law.

“‘The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.

“‘But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.’ This is the word of the Lord.”

“Thanks be to God,” the congregation answered.

A psalm was sung, and then Nick read from Acts 3, finishing with: “Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord…” Marco found himself nudging Jean, who had nodded off during the reading. As the Alleluia was sung, Marco leaned into Jean’s ear and repeated what Nick had said about how sin would be cleansed when one turned to God, and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

The homily was said, a lovely message about the love of Christ being a cool refreshment against the sweltering September heat, and then the congregation recited the Credo:

“We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen. We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in Being with the Father. Through him all things were made.

“For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried. On the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.

“We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets. We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.”

The gifts were presented; Nick recited to himself while the choir sang. The congregation rose and performed the Eucharist rite, sang the Sanctus, said the Lord’s Prayer.

“The peace of the Lord be with you always,” Nick stated.

“And also with you,” the people responded. 

“Let us offer each other a sign of peace.”

Marco and Jean each turned away from each other to offer a friendly handshake to the strangers next to them, and then turned to each other. Marco held out his hand for Jean to shake; Jean took it, but then pulled Marco into a tight hug. Marco’s other hand came up to rest against the soft hairs on the back of Jean’s head, and he felt Jean’s breath on his collarbone. The two parted abruptly; Jean’s face was flushed, and Marco felt his own cheeks grow warm.

 “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us. Grant us peace…” As the communion commenced, Marco’s mind couldn’t help but linger on the feeling of Jean’s embrace. He shook the thoughts as he spoke.

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

After taking a wafer and a cup of grape juice, the congregation took a moment of silence to pray, after which Nick’s powerful baritone cut through the halls of the church once more: “May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“Go now, in peace, to love and serve the Lord.”

“Thanks be to God!” Jean and Marco stood and waited for the elderly couple blocking their exit to shuffle out. Jean grabbed Marco’s hand and tried to yank him out of their pew as soon as they had a clear path. As soon as they were out the door and into the courtyard, a voice caused Jean to stop dead in his tracks.

“Fancy seeing you here, son,” a deep voice growled behind him. Jean whipped around to face the tall figure from whence the voice came and, realizing that he was still gripping Marco’s hand, shook it off.

“Dad,” he greeted him curtly, with a nod. “Didn’t know you’d be home this weekend.”

“Should have never left. What the hell did you do to your hair?” Jean’s father took his son’s jaw in his hand and jerked it to the side, exposing his undercut.

“Francis, language,” a woman urged, pulling on his sleeve. Jean’s mother, Marco assumed; although she had mousy brown hair and a portly figure, she had Jean’s long nose and shapely lips. She turned to Marco with a smile. “Jeanny, you brought a friend?”

“My roommate, Marco Bodt,” Jean told them, with an introductory gesture between the two parties. “Marco, my parents: Frank and Denise Kirschstein.”

Marco nodded at them with a muttered “my pleasure,” and shook Frank’s hand. It was large and calloused, nothing like his son’s. “Now, you look like a real man, so you’ll make sure to keep my boy in line,” Frank told him while he gripped Marco’s shoulder. “He’s got a temper like a pissed-off stallion.”

“I’m aware, sir,” Marco replied, remaining polite despite bristling internally; this earned him an elbow in the ribs, to which he responded with a wink. “I’ll try to keep him out of trouble.”

“We have to get going,” Jean growled impatiently, looking at the ground and shuffling his feet.

“Denise, I’ll pull around the car,” Frank said to his wife. Before leaving, he turned to Jean with a disapproving look. “And grow that damn hair out. It could give people the wrong idea…you know.” With an uncomfortable pause, he waved goodbye and stalked away.

“Fuck you too, _Frank,_ ” Jean whispered under his breath into Marco’s shoulder, and was about to high-tail it in the other direction when his mother gripped his arm.

“Jeanny, when will you be home?” she asked with wide eyes. “I miss you already.”

Jean exhaled loudly and looked at her with an irritated glare. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ll call.”

“You said you’d call this week, but you haven’t,” she said softly, twiddling her thumbs. “It’s just, I worry—”

“I said _I’ll call, Mom._ ” Jean’s tone was final.

“Okay,” Jean’s mother cowered under her son’s stature, lanky as it was. It broke Marco’s heart to see her so weak-willed; Jean wasn’t kidding when he said she had been broken by her husband’s wrath. Still, she forced Jean into a bone-crushing hug. “I love you, sweetie,” she told him gently when she released him.

“Bye.” Jean gave his valediction with a roll of his eyes and waved her off; he grabbed Marco’s hand again and began walking as soon as she began to depart. When they made it to his Bimmer (Marco had nearly passed out when he first saw it sitting in the Maria parking lot), he climbed in, slammed the door and let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. “Well, you met the parents,” he muttered. “Sorry about that.”

Marco smiled, leaning back in his seat, and took a deep breath. “Your dad is a prick, if you’ll excuse me saying so.”

“You are excused.” Jean turned his head and grinned at him.

“But your mom seems sweet,” Marco told him, absently laying a hand on Jean’s shoulder and rubbing circles with his thumb into the fabric. “I’d be nicer.”

Jean relaxed at the touch. A hand on a shoulder—that was a platonic gesture, right? “I can’t stand that woman.”

“Hey. Better to have one parent that loves you than none at all,” Marco mumbled, looking off into the distance, and then his hand stopped its movement and fell into his lap.

“I guess.” Jean took a brief glance at Marco and then started up the car. They were silent until they got back to the university; on the way into their room, they bumped into Armin, Eren and Mikasa. The three were about to depart for lunch, and after that, the Sigma Chi recruitment event. Jean scoffed at them, sarcastically wishing them good luck, and shut the door behind him when he and Marco were in their room again.

“So?” he asked, gesturing for Marco to join him on his bed and removing the tie from his neck. Marco nodded graciously and took a seat.

“Thank you for taking me,” the brunette said shyly, looking down at his hands. “I haven’t been to a proper church service in a long time. It’s refreshing to be in the space of God again.” He gave Jean a sweet smile, which was only met with a “tch” and a look of disbelief.

Jean looked away, gritting his teeth. “So you believe in all that crap?”

“What? Of course,” Marco replied, in a tone that was more sincere than offended. Then the color of his voice became cautious, concerned. “Do you not?”

“Eh.” Jean shrugged spitefully. “It’s hard to believe in a deity that hasn’t ever lent you a helping hand.” He met Marco’s eyes and shrugged again; this time his shoulders read vulnerability instead of petulance.

“But you wear that.” Marco indicated the black wooden cross hanging around Jean’s neck.

“It was my grandma’s,” Jean murmured, holding it reverently. He gazed at it for a few seconds, lost in his adoration for it, and then, embarrassed, sputtered: “The French one. My mom’s mom.”

The corner of Marco’s mouth turned upwards and he moved closer to Jean. With his eyes, he sought permission to hold the cross; Jean granted it with his smile, and Marco took it delicately into his hands, running his fingertips around its corners. “She was really special, wasn’t she?”

“The tolerance for deviance in my family died with her,” Jean replied flatly. “And my respect for religion, for that matter.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Marco looked up at Jean. “You know, I don’t believe that the earth was created in seven days, or that Jesus literally turned water into wine, or anything. But I do take the message of Christ to heart.”

Jean was silent for a while. Then, looking at nothing in particular, he began to thoughtfully reflect on his religious principles. “I always liked the gospel according to Mark best. His interpretation was the most realistic. No divinity, no resurrection, no bullshit. Just Jesus doin’ cool shit.”

Marco laughed and rested his head on Jean’s shoulder. “I like John. Realized eschatology and all that. I feel like too many people are cynical, thinking that this world is naturally evil. So they wait for goodness in the afterlife, when they could be making an effort to create heaven on earth.”

“Well, look at us,” Jean said, wrapping an arm around Marco’s shoulders. “Couple of theosophists. Jean and Marco, the Modern Evangelists.”

“I like the sound of that,” Marco hummed. “You wanna get lunch soon, O Beloved Disciple?”

“Yeah, just let me change,” Jean said, and stood, starting to unbutton his dress shirt. Marco’s eyes drifted to the exposed skin, and lingered on patches of line and color that just peeked from under the fabric. Although he was intrigued, he would inquire about them later—for now, Jean’s naked torso was off-limits. Marco had a well-developed sense of self-control, but Jean’s breathless gasps and subtle movements were often enough to make his pants uncomfortably tight, and avoiding that situation was imperative at this stage of their relationship.

Eventually, as they were finishing bowls of lackluster ramen from the Japanese section of the food court, Marco convinced him to at least _check out_ Sigma Chi's event. They glanced at the clock and, upon realizing the time, departed in a frantic rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco...these two and their stupid love for each other get me through the day. 
> 
> Firstly, I am not a Catholic, nor am I familiar with any Catholic customs. I know a bit about Christianity just through choir experience, school, and random research of my own, but it's a very limited span of knowledge. If I royally fucked anything up in that regard, PLEASE let me know so that I can edit and strive for accuracy. 
> 
> (Also, asexual!Springles is one of my favorite headcanons--I'll give a nod to LAD for sort of confirming that as a valid possibility. Lownly's the best. Update already. I'm drying up. Shameless pleading session over.)
> 
> Next chapter: The freshmen get to know the Sigma Chi members, and Eren gets to know the local law enforcement.


	7. Piece Of Work Your Brother Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He reminds me so much of Izz.”  
> “Oh. ...You heard from her lately?”  
> “Visited ‘bout three weeks ago.”  
> “How is she?”  
> “Got into another fight. She’d just gotten out of the fuckin’ SHU.”  
> “Fuck, this is what, the--”  
> “The sixth time.”  
> “Next time you see her, tell her I say hi. And that I miss her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY MOLEY GUYS IT'S BEEN? LIKE?? A YEAR??? SINCE I'VE UPDATED????? lmao I had this chapter and honestly most of the fic written, but then my computer crashed and I lost it ALL :):):) and so I completely gave up hope! Also, I've been in a super bad brain place for the last 12 months so that's my excuse. ALSO, I'm about to graduate college. I have lots of important adult things to do. I don't like it. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this shameless mishmash of frat party time and playful banter. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: alcohol and drug consumption, homophobic slurs, descriptions of violence.

It was September 4th, and the entire fraternity was buzzing in anticipation. The executive board had all filed into the living room of the house, having called together a meeting in preparation of that afternoon’s event, after which the first chapter meeting of the year would take place. It was an emotional day, and members were greeting each other with huge smiles and raised voices, running across the room to wrap each other in hugs after a summer of separation.

Levi sat next to Hanji on the couch, head resting on their shoulder and a hand clasped around theirs as they watched, for the fifth and final time, their underlings scrambling about in reunited bliss. Levi peered up at Hanji; the two shared a knowing look, and then their bodies each shook with a single huff of a chuckle. As soon as everyone had settled in their respective seats, Hanji stood up, and welcomed back the new school year’s board, reminding them of their responsibilities and briefing them on the day’s events. Levi watched them speak with a quiet sort of reverence, a smile tugging at his lips. They were so beautiful when they were excited--which was, granted, most of the time.

And the plan for that afternoon was nothing short of genius, either. After introducing themselves, the active members would gather in a circle, outside of which the prospies would form another circle around them. They would partake in a sort of speed dating, each active getting to know each prospective by way of trying to find a shared interest in a short a time as possible. Upon finding this interest, the two would, in the words of Hanji, “nerd out.” It was a surefire way to achieve quick camaraderie.

At three o'clock sharp, Hanji and Levi waited in the foyer, ready to greet the prospectives as they entered the house and directing them back towards the backyard. As three freshmen entered, Levi recognized Eren, who waved anxiously and began to talk just before Levi shooed him forward. There were two others with him, a wide-eyed blonde and an incredibly shifty-looking ravenette. They whispered to Eren as they walked away. One by one, more students began to appear; just before they locked up, two boys rushed in, looking incredibly embarrassed to be late. Levi sighed and let them in, walking with Hanji behind them and beholding the crowd in the backyard.

“Hey, everyone!” Hanji called, Solo cup of punch in hand, quieting everyone as they stepped onto a lawn chair. “Okay, let’s get started. I’m Hanji Zoe, second-year graduate student in the biochemistry department and president of Sigma Chi, and thank you all for coming…”

As they explained Sigma Chi’s mission and the activity at hand, the actives gathered in a mob, separating themselves from the prospectives to introduce themselves. Levi stood next to the lawn chair, and was inevitably next.

“Levi Ackerman,” he sighed with a polite wave, speaking just loudly enough to be heard. “Second year grad, psych and so-an. Vice president.” He looked to his right and nodded.

Nanaba raised her hand with a sweet smile. "Nanaba Smith. First year grad, studying mathematics. I'm your treasurer."

The rest of the executive board introduced themselves: Petra Ral and Auruo Bossuard, both seniors in the psych department, event coordinator and sergeant-at-arms respectively; Moblit Berner, senior in the art department, recording secretary; Nifa Botin, junior in the communications department, corresponding secretary, Dita Ness, senior in the history department, new member educator. Finally, Reiner stood up with a vigorous wave, his loud voice booming across the backyard.

"I'm Reiner Braun, a junior studying physical therapy, and your new member supervisor." He glanced at Hanji, who was beaming; the position was a new one, formed because Hanji thought the new members could use a little more TLC than those before them. "Basically, I'll be your mom." There was a little laughter dispersed through the backyard, and then Reiner motioned to Bertholdt, who introduced himself, the rest of the actives following suit.

After the prospies were done introducing themselves, most of them nervous little wrecks, they formed their double circle. Levi met Hanji's eyes, giving them a little smile when they flashed him two thumbs up. Levi closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then turned to see what unfortunate soul had placed themselves in front of him.

It was Eren Jaeger.

Fucking typical.

The boy ran his hands through his hair nervously, pursing his lips and then grinning. Levi sighed, and offered a smirk.

"So. Eren. Uh. I have..." He looked down at the index card in his hand, filled with topics of which he had some interest, and began listing them off: "crime dramas, cooking, homemade soaps, activism--"

"Yeah yeah yeah!" Eren said in rapid succession, jabbing a finger at the index card. “Activism!” Levi recoiled reflexively, pursing his lips and letting out a slow exhalation through his nostrils, as Eren gave him a wild look. "You're Levi Ackerman. Like, the cornerstone of modern-day collegiate social activism." He said it like he’d been practicing.

"Who the fuck gave me that description?" Levi hissed under his breath, fidgeting with the card. The last five or so years had been fruitful in terms of personal projects, and Levi had become more well-known than he ever intended. Indeed, Erwin had often shown him updates in the Tumblr tag of his name. There was an entire blog dedicated solely to the chronicles of his work; Levi had felt a strange mixture of humility, anxiety and utter discomfort upon knowing that he had fans.

"Holy shit," Eren marveled, undeterred by Levi's scowl. "I am such a huge fan. Everything you do, it's so...noble."

"Just doing my part to leave a good footprint," Levi murmured, looking away.

"You're an _inspiration_ ,” Eren told him, laying a hand on his knee. Levi picked it up and moved it away, as politely as he possibly could. Eren used the hand to raise his index finger. “Now, your comments on police brutality, they got me thinking. I'd like to reform the system from the inside out. Be a positive force, use that power for good, you know? Because--"

Levi looked skeptical. "My work made you want to _join_ the police? Even given your history with..."

"Yeah.” The kid looked proud of himself; Levi felt a sort of pang in his heart. He _should_ be proud, to be sitting here, having overcome so many obstacles and about to start college. “I still have no clue what I want to study, but that's the ultimate goal."

"Good for you,” Levi said after a beat, his voice betraying some genuine praise. If a kid with as much heart and tenacity as Eren were a police officer, he’d be a damn good one. Eren broke out into an even bigger smile than he’d worn before. The little dimples on his cheeks reminded him of Isabel--the thought fled in an instant, for just as Eren was about to speak, Hanji called out “SWITCH!” Eren pulled Levi into a bear hug and hopped merrily over to Hanji, who shot an entirely conspicuous wink at their vice president.

Levi couldn’t help but laugh when Hanji shared their enthusiasm with the boy, clapping their hands together and squealing.

“Are you aware that you’re heterochromatic?” Hanji asked him, holding his eyelids open wide. Eren shook his head minutely. “Moby’s doing a photography series on iris colors--we _need_ to use you!”

Levi sighed and turned his glance back to whoever had landed in front of him. It was the girl who’d come in with Eren. Levi extended his hand at the same time that she did.

“Mikasa Jaeger,” she said softly.

“So. You’re the sister.”

Mikasa nodded.

“Piece of work your brother is.”

“Tell me about it,” Mikasa said, with something that sounded like a little chuckle.

Levi caught himself. _Now is not the time to shit on prospies, Ackerman._ “Not that he’s--I mean, he seems like a really good kid--”

The girl narrowed her almond eyes. “Lay a hand on him and I’ll cut it off.”

Levi mirrored the expression. “Good thing he’s not my type, then,” he said to her, and she smiled.

_I like this one._

-

Six hours later, the house was loud and thick with the smell of booze. The party would start before the clock struck midnight, but it was far wiser to do it on the day before Labor Day than it would be before the first day of school.

Hanji had been president of the chapter since their senior year; officer rotations had been slow, due to the dwindling amount of new members each year. Each Sunday before Labor Day, after the annual recruitment event, they would host their birthday party, the first of which had been their twenty-first. The theme was always the same; guests were expected to bring gifts, but only in the form of alcohol--the strangest alcohol one could find. Hanji had always been an experimentalist, a firm believer in the scientific method, and that applied to every aspect of their life.

On the bar, each bottle sat with a little note or card attached to it, some opened already and some still sealed. The line-up was impressive this year: there was the usual bunch of vodkas, this time wasabi, dill pickle and salmon; pizza-flavored beer; a bottle of amber liquor with a massive scorpion inside; and some ungodly brew made from horse milk. Levi shuddered at the thought of trying any one of them.

Levi had presented a bottle of Agwa de Bolivia on behalf of both himself and Erwin, who still hadn’t arrived. Levi had decorated it with white glitter sprinkled over a spiral line of glue. The smaller of the pair had been proud of his little addition. The larger had feigned amusement.

The penultimate guests to arrive were Petra and Auruo, whose gifts were matching; Petra’s was a rose petal wine, with little faux flowers glued to every inch of the bottle and a delicate pink ribbon around the neck, and Auruo’s was a cactus pear wine, with a little note that said _I hope this isn’t as prickly as my personality_ in his scribbly script. Levi smiled, and Petra poured a glass of the rose wine for him, giggling when he kissed her hand in thanks.

He was still finishing it up when Ymir arrived, the last to bring her offering; she came bearing a bottle of brandy, shaped like what had to be at least fourteen inches of a glass phallus. Levi’s eyes went wide as saucers as she set it sideways on the table, and he gulped.

“Oh, I see you eyeing that,” Ymir teased, leaning against the bar. “Maybe El Presidente will let you have it after it’s emptied.”

“Fuck off, Loki,” Levi hissed, although he was smiling just as much as she was. Hanji sidled up to him where he sat at the bar, elbowing his shoulder. They were dressed smartly in a broad-shouldered yellow pantsuit, their hair done half-up in curls, little white flowers tucked in here and there. “You look stunning,” Levi said seriously, tucking a ringlet behind their ear.

Hanji leaned over to kiss his hair. “Thanks, doll.”

“Ay, Han!” Ymir thrust her thumb backwards at the bottle. “Think Napoleon could take that?”

Hanji hmm’ed. “Oh, I’m not sure. Since obviously he only ever has sex with a micropenis,” they said very matter-of-factly. Ymir cackled.

“Can we _not_ discuss the physical limitations of my asshole, or the lack thereof in my partner’s schlong?” Levi said quietly, stifling a laugh. Erwin’s _size_ was an embarrassingly common subject within Sigma Chi conversation. Ever since that beach day when he’d accidentally packed a suit far too small for him, and he’d popped a stiffy right after stepping onto shore, the entire chapter had gotten a first-hand view of what Levi had to deal with--all ten inches of it. His fellow Sigma Chis had, from that day on, teased him relentlessly.

“Jesus, you’re too sober for me to deal with.” Ymir reached out ruffle his hair and walked off to join a group of brothers in the living room.

Levi sighed. “That girl is the biggest pain in my--well, except for _that thing_ , theoretically--” Hanji burst out laughing and laid their head on Levi’s shoulder as they came down from it. Levi looked around, pursing his lips, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. “The kids seemed to enjoy the event today,” he murmured, changing the subject.

“Yeah!” Hanji smiled brightly, straightening up. “Any thoughts about who you might want as a little?”

Levi scoffed, swirling the last bit of wine around in his glass. “You _know_ there are a lot of reasons I’ve never taken a little before. I’m not into that smooshy lovey-dovey shit.”

“Only when it comes with blonde hair and a suit,” Hanji countered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Levi said, punching their forearm, and he was silent for a few seconds before he muttered: “...Eren Jaeger.”

Hanji’s jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me.”

Levi shook his head, swallowing the remnants of his wine. “No sir’ram. No shit here.”

“Cute kid, isn’t he?”

“He reminds me so much of Izz.” Levi looked down, his voice falling.

“Oh.” Hanji looked down, too. There was a pregnant pause before they spoke again. “You heard from her lately?”

Levi pursed his lips. “Visited ‘bout three weeks ago.”

“How is she?”

Levi set his glass aside for fear that he might crush it in his tightening fist. “Got into another fight. She’d just gotten out of the fuckin’ SHU.”

Hanji’s hands came up to cover their forehead. “Fuck, this is what, the--”

“The sixth time.”

The brunette was silent; they exhaled deeply. “Next time you see her, tell her I say hi. And that I miss her.”

“Will do.”

Another pause. “What about Fa--”

“Still nothing.” Levi ignored Hanji’s pout and cut off the conversation as Bertholdt came to the bar, setting down a tray covered in plastic champagne flutes. He filled each of them with a small amount of red wine from an unlabeled green bottle; it were seemingly innocuous, not at all in place at this party. Levi took one and looked at the boy for explanation.

“It’s pinot noir,” he said quickly, and then looked around nervously.

Levi swirled it around, inhaling it, and then took a sip; it was smooth down his throat, with a distinct herbal flavor amongst the familiar grapes. “Okay,” he said, putting it down. “It’s good. What’s the twist?”

Hanji snorted. “It’s Bertl. What the fuck do you _think_ the twist is, genius?”

Levi looked to Hanji, and then to the wine, and then to Bertholdt, and then back to the wine, taking another sip. His eyes narrowed. “Is there… _weed_ in this?”

Bertholdt put his hands together, smiling meekly.“Home-grown variety. Infused it myself,” he admitted.

The front door opened and closed, and Levi turned to see his man standing in the door, all done up in that gay-ass beautiful fucking powder blue button-up. Their eyes met; Erwin waved and greeted a few Chis on his way before standing behind Levi’s barstool and wrapping his arms around him. He kissed the top of Levi’s head and the smaller man sighed. “You’re late, babe,” he said softly, and then laughed, pointing at the monster brandy dick. “So late that you’ve got competition now.”

Erwin swore quietly under his breath with a well-humored smile, and then turned his attentions to the host. “Happy twenty-third, Tesla.”

Hanji swiveled around to hug him, burying their face in his chest, and then withdrew with a blissful smile. “Levi, never replace this man with a glass bottle. His cologne smells too good.”

Levi rolled his eyes, but wrapped a possessive arm around his lover to draw him back close. Hanji didn’t miss that he gave Erwin’s shirt a sniff as well. Then he remembered his drink, and pointed to it. “Erwin, can you believe this--it has _weed_ in it.”

Erwin took the glass from him and drank from it, contemplating the flavor. He looked at Bertholdt with a smile and gave him his compliments; the tall boy blushed and shuffled away with the tray of flutes and a quiet “thank you.”

“So.” Hanji’s loud voice cut through the brief silence. “Congratulations, Erwin.”

“Hm?” The blonde was puzzled.

“On the announcement of your grandlittle,” they answered. Levi flinched; Hanji threw their hands up. “It’s a boy!”

Erwin turned to Levi, eyes wide, a bright smile on his face. “You’re taking him?! You’re taking Eren?”

Levi sighed, looking downward, and then back up at Erwin. He forced a wistful expression, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re gonna be a grandbig.”

Erwin kissed him deeply and whispered something in his ear about having to celebrate when they got home. Levi shoved him away with a good-natured “gross” and a smirk, and refilled his glass with what Hanji had taken to dubbing “mari-wine-a.” A few minutes later, Mike and Nanaba found Erwin, and his attention was directed towards them; Levi occupied himself with sampling the less offensive choices at the bar.

When the effects of the alcohol and the drugs both had let Levi’s mind settle into a cozy, warm haze, he found his hands being held by a petite redhead in a lacy pink babydoll. “Pet.” He threw his arms around her, inhaling the sweet floral scent she’d doused herself with, and kissed her cheek.

“Come dance with me!” she laughed, swaying on her feet. Levi could only say yes, and let her drag him out onto the makeshift dance floor where Hanji’s shitty mix of European electropop was playing. He lifted her and spun her, laughing like everything was good in the world and his other favorite redhead wasn’t rotting in prison.

In the other room, Erwin and the others watched through the threshold. Mike sighed, nursing a pint of the oatmeal stout he’d brought. “She’s still so in love. It’s kinda sad.”

Hanji raised a finger to correct him. “Let’s hope that’s not true, for Grunkle’s sake.” Erwin turned to them, eyebrow raised. “They started dating like... _three_ days ago?” they explained, counting on their fingers and then shrugging. “It was bound to happen eventually.” Yet Erwin could clearly see Auruo standing off to the side, speaking with Gunther and Eld, as Levi and Petra made a wild attempt at a lindy hop, stumbling and ending up in each other’s arms on the floor. Auruo’s respect for his class’s educator seemed to be the only thing keeping him from ruffling his feathers and asserting dominance.

“Yeah. Thank the gods.” Nanaba nodded and took a shot of the pickle vodka, too drunk to care what it tasted like anymore. “She needed to lay off. Lee’s gay as _fuck_. Besides, _you two_ are kindred spirits.”  
Erwin laughed, leaning back in the seat he’d usurped from Levi. “That’s just it--we’re not the same at all. We’re polar opposites.” He glanced at Hanji. “Eren’s more like him.”

“You jealous?” The brunette smirked, poking his hip.

“Not unless he monopolizes being Levi’s dance partner,” Erwin replied, smiling coolly.

There’d been something _off_ about their relationship in the last few weeks, what with the stresses of work and school, and Levi preparing to put together his graduate thesis. They hadn’t had a good, long evening of sex in over two weeks--which was an oddity for them, Levi was never in the mood when he came home from meeting with department chairs about syllabi and orienting students, and Erwin had folders upon folders of administrative busywork to sift through himself.

He hoped that having a little would lift Levi’s spirits. From what Hanji had told him, Eren seemed like a perfectly nice boy, despite his admission file. What could possibly go wrong?

-

 _Something’s definitely not right,_ Armin thought. Eren and Mikasa had made a pit stop at the campus market to pick up groceries, promising to meet Armin in the quad half an hour later. They were late, and the late summer air was unnaturally chilly, _and_ it was _too_ quiet. Armin shuffled around and tugged at his cardigan, adjusted the beads around his neck, the bow in his hair.

He was still staring at the ground when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It turned him forcefully to the side, and he looked up, expecting to see Eren or Mikasa. Instead he met the gaze of a strong but stout man, looking to be an upperclassman, likely here on a sports scholarship, based on the Neanderthal-esque curvature of his brow. There were two more behind him, laughing to each other.

“Man, the fuck _are_ you?” the first one jeered.

“What do you mean?” Armin asked, instinctively throwing a palm across his sternum to hide his necklace.

“We saw you in the boy’s room in Maria,” the second said, rolling his shoulders. “We couldn’t decide whether you was confused and in the wrong bathroom, or you was just lookin’ for a pounding.”

Armin narrowed his eyes, took a step back, and said with a quavering voice:. “Neither. Leave me alone, please.”

He cried out in fear when the first assailant took him roughly by the upper arm and threw him to the ground. “Are you a girl, or _what?_ ”

Armin covered his face with his hands, shaking. “I’m a boy, I guess, but--”

The third upperclassman ripped the bow out of his hair and examined it. “You _guess_ ?” Then he threw it down and glared at Armin, pulling his hair by the roots. “Even fags don’t dress _this_ faggy.”

Armin gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm despite the pounding in his chest. “Please don’t use that wo--AGH!” A shoe landed squarely in the back of his knee and he yelped. Another made contact with his stomach, though he tried to curl up. The beating only could have lasted ten seconds before Armin heard the familiar voice of his friend, a cry cutting through the cold air along with a fist knocking the assailant to the side. Armin scrambled to his feet and hid behind a bench, watching Mikasa run up alongside Eren and promptly begin screaming at the boys.

Eren looked downright savage as he landed a blow to one jock’s sternum while whipping around to kick another in the shin. It all looked very unrehearsed, very untrained, and entirely lacking in grace, but no one could say that Eren Jaeger didn’t fight passionately. The brunette got one of the brutes on the ground and began to drive his foot into his stomach, shouting a slew of choice obscenities that may or may not have been necessary. The recipient of Eren’s violence coughed and pleaded, but saw no mercy until the others intervened. Armin screamed when one of the boys pushed Mikasa hard enough to make her fall and then grabbed Eren by the hair, throwing him to the pavement. There was an audible crack when his temple hit the ground, and Armin sprung up, invigorated purely by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Keep your fucking hands _off_ of him!” Armin shouted, helping up Mikasa, who assumed a defensive stance; she was trained in martial arts, but had never used her skills outside the classroom. Then she spun around, alerted by the arrival of two individuals in white polos. Eren groaned, pushing himself up and punching the side walk in frustration as the boys sprinted off in the other direction. Armin’s head throbbed and he heard nothing but a dull, watery white noise, unaware that the campus law enforcement had been notified of the scene. From the look in Mikasa’s eyes, she was ready to spring, but an officer grabbed her wrist right before she did.

“What’s going on?” demanded the officer, a short but muscled woman with a cocoa complexion and cornrows tied into a thick bun.

“What does it _look_ like?” Eren hissed, spitting out a globule of blood. “Those freaks were assaulting my best friend! Does he look like the kind of person who could take them on?”

Armin met his eyes for a split second; Eren blinked apologetically; Armin responded in kind, forgiving.

“All right, we’re going to have to take you in. _All_ of you,” the woman told them, and began walking with Mikasa in tow. Her partner, a tall bronzed man with a hooked nose, took hold of one of Armin’s arms and one of Eren’s, leading them towards their obnoxiously-labeled Campus Safety van. They pushed the freshmen into the back seat, sitting up front with stony faces. The woman had her eye especially focused on Eren. “Who were the assailants?”

“No idea. We’re brand new,” Mikasa retorted, averting her gaze out the window. Eren sat in the bitch seat, restlessly fumbling, as if he needed something to hit.

“Shame,” the man murmured. “No way to guarantee they’ll ever be identified.”

Eren gripped the plush sides of the front seats, face red. “Some fucking ‘campus safety’ this is! Find those bastards or I’ll finish them off myself! Do you fuckwads even know how to do your job?! You know you’re supposed to be protecting the weaker amongst us, right?” Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The officers, and the other two teens, suffered silently through his abuse as they pulled up to their office, but Eren was handcuffed as soon as he was out of the van. They led him in, struggling, to a private room, while Armin and Mikasa were asked to wait in the lobby, smiling courteously and awkwardly at the plump little receptionist.

Mikasa took a pen from her hoodie pocket, wrote something on her palm, and then opened it to Armin. It spelled, in immaculate print so different from Eren’s messy scrawl: “We Are Fucked.”

Armin responded with a curly-cue message of his own, written in magenta: “I KNOW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh! What lies in store for our smooth little criminals? Stay tuned.
> 
> And look, more nicknames!
> 
> NOTE: All of those alcohols exist. I did extensive research. Look them up.


End file.
